


tell me you love me (even if it's a lie)

by zanthetran



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Craigslist AU, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Human!Doctor, Humor, Slow Burn, this started as one thing and spiraled quickly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:55:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28085793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zanthetran/pseuds/zanthetran
Summary: Yaz lies to her coworkers to get out of having to go out for drinks, and it comes back to bite her in the ass when they insist on meeting her Mysterious Girlfriend at the holiday party.Only problem is: her Mysterious Girlfriend With Terrible Work Hours doesn't actually exist.-/another/ fake dating au
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan
Comments: 39
Kudos: 133





	1. yaz is a lying liar who lies a lot

**Author's Note:**

> hi hello I’m back. what’s up. ding ding here’s your order of fake dating au with a side of “oh shit I’m in love”. this fic is split into chapters now because i thought a 20k+ oneshot was a bit long for a single chapter but it'll all be posted within the next 2 weeks hopefully <3
> 
> everyone pour one out for @joanwolfe who listened to me talk about this for like three weeks straight she really is the backbone of every single fic i write thanks jo ur the real mvp n this one is for u

Yaz likes her coworkers. _Really_ , she does. She’s just not a terribly social person and her idea of relaxing after a long week is quite the opposite of her coworkers (which is getting pissed at the bar until they have to be poured into cabs home). But she also wasn’t raised to be rude, so she lies.

(Yeah, that’s kinda worse, but  _ really _ , it’s a little white lie, how bad could it be?)

The first time they invite her to Friday night after work drinks, she declines, politely but firmly. She makes up some excuse about working the next morning and not wanting to deal with a hangover. Her coworkers laugh, joke about Yaz coming in on her day off and being a kiss-ass, but eventually concede. Yaz spends the night with a glass of wine and a book, legs tucked under her as the tv plays in front her and Sonya (who spends half of it scrolling through her phone).

The next time, they rib her for it, asking if she just doesn’t think she can handle drinking with them. They push it, and Bill says, “What, you think Kevin will out drink you? C’mon Yaz, we’ll pay for your pint.”

The lie comes off her tongue far too easily to be comfortable.

“I can’t, I have to take my girlfriend to work — she works odd shifts.”

It’s like dangling meat in front of shark infested waters and she knows it as soon as the words are out of her mouth. With all the brushoffs and lies about taking Sonya to the store or picking her up from a friend's house, this is the one that is going to bite her in the ass and she can feel it.

There’s a few raised brows, a few jabs about the sudden Mysterious Girlfriend Yaz has never mentioned until now, and Yaz quickly makes up some excuse about it being fairly new, about not wanting to talk about her (Mysterious Girlfriend) until it’s a bit more serious. They eventually accept this (lie) and move the conversation back to Friday night plans, which bar they’ll go to and who’s probably going to get the most pissed in the least amount of time (it’s Kevin, it’s always Kevin).

And then it just sort of...spirals.

As in, every time she doesn’t want to do something outside of work and needs an excuse, she brings up the Mysterious Girlfriend (who she apparently loves very much, who works odd hours, and who she could end up seeing herself marrying someday).

(That last part was a complete accident — Jen was talking about her engagement and the conversation turned to Yaz, and someone (probably Bill) asked if Mysterious Girlfriend is The One, and Yaz, having not been paying much attention to the conversation as she was filling out paperwork for a case, just mumbled “yeah, think so”.)

So it’s sort of not her fault it ends up as big as it does. Or, well, it’s completely her fault because she’s the one who gave them that ammo to begin with, but she really,  _ really  _ didn’t mean for it to spiral this bad.

“This bad” as in Sergeant Sunder clapping her on the shoulder and saying, “I’m quite excited to meet this  _ mysterious girlfriend  _ of yours, Yaz. I’m sure she’ll get along quite nicely at the district party.”

Yaz can’t even form a proper response — she doesn’t even know how he  _ knows  _ about her lie — she can only nod as he walks off.

_ Fuck. _

So, yeah. She has a fake girlfriend, and now she either needs to make up an excuse and face the wrath of her coworkers (who now talk about  _ Mysterious Girlfriend  _ at least three times a week) or get an  _ actual girlfriend. _

Telling the truth is completely out of the question.

“Tell them she fell in a pool and drowned,” Ryan suggests, when he gets done having laughed his ass off for a full two mintues after she’d explained the situation.

“In  _ Sheffield _ , in the middle of  _ winter _ ?”

Ryan shrugs. “Maybe it’s an inground pool.”

Yaz throws a chip at him. He tries to move out of the way but it smacks him on the forehead and falls to the grass.

“Unhelpful,” she says.

They eat in relative silence, watching the cars drive past the park they’re sat at (on one of the rare warmer days now) when he says, “Why not try Craigslist?”

Yaz looks at him, confused. “Craigslist?”

“Yeah, y’know, the place you can buy other people’s junk?”

“You can get a  _ date  _ one Craigslist?” That doesn’t sound...legal.

“Oh, yeah. It’s usually not weird people but you gotta be careful. I could help you look!” he offers, pulling out his phone.

“Ryan, I can’t get a date on Craigslist. What if she turns out to be a serial killer or something?”

Ryan raises his brows and looks her up and down, taking in the work uniform she still wears. “You’re a fed, aren’t you? What’s she gonna do — try and kill you after a party full of other feds?”

Yaz glares at him — he does have a point but you’d have to beat her senseless to get her to admit it.

She finally just shakes her head. “Nah, it’s alright. I’ll probably just ask that girl at your shop — what’s her name? The one with the  _ huge  _ arms?”

“Oi, not funny. I told you, she’s crazy. I don’t know how but she is.”

* * *

She’s not going to try Craigslist — Ryan is bloody mental.

She’s almost fully through her shift the next day when he texts her. She pulls her phone from her jacket pocket and opens up the message. It’s a link to an ad on Craigslist. Yaz rolls her eyes but clicks it anyways.

The link takes her to a bright white page, blue text links down the side, and a black, bold post header that says, “ _ Need a date for Christmas? Newport, Kentucky. _ ”

Yaz texts him,  _ Ryan this is for someone in the states. _

_ O yea, sry,  _ he texts back a minute later.

Yaz looks up from her phone and scans the surrounding area where her cruiser is parked. She’s stuck on rounds for the evening and her speed gun is set up on her dashboard as cars drive past. She’s waiting for anyone to give her something to do, but so far no one has even gone slightly over the speed limit (though she isn’t hidden, so that’s not a big surprise). She swipes back to the ad and clicks on the  _ Personals  _ link on the left side of the page, scrolling through the posts.

After the third one offering “ _ services _ ” she exits from the site and shuts her phone off.

He sends another link that night after she gets off work and she clicks it. It opens to the now familiar white background, and the first line of the bolded header is, “ _ Told your friends and family you’re in a relationship? _ ”

Yaz calls him.

“Are you seriously sending me another one?”

“It’s perfect, Yaz. She’s here in Sheffield, too. It says she’ll pretend to be your date for the holidays.”

Yaz holds the phone away from her ear and scrolls through the post where the woman offers a “ _ realistic dating experience to show off to your family and friends so they’ll stop asking you if you’re seeing anyone _ ”.

“Isn’t this just an escort?”

Ryan scoffs. “No, Yaz. An escort would cost actual money — she says she’ll do it for a free meal at whatever party you’re going to.”

“She’s not gonna like...want to  _ really  _ date after the one time, is she?” Yaz asks tentatively. Getting a fake date from Craigslist just seems...sleezy, somehow, and she definitely doesn’t want to end up with a stalker or something.

“Yaz, are you really askin’ if she’s gonna fall in love with you? Mate, c’mon.”

Yaz rolls her eyes. “I’m not asking if she’ll fall in love with me, I’m asking if she’s gonna expect, y’know, more than just being my date to one party?”

“Right, look at her picture then,” Ryan says.

“What picture?” Yaz pulls the phone from her ear again and scrolls down the page. Sure enough, there’s a picture accompanying the short post.

It’s a black and white shot of a woman, hair barely brushing her shoulders, face serious as she stares into the camera. Her chin is lifted almost imperceptibly, hands shoved into the pockets of a leather jacket that she wears over a black t-shirt. Her features are sharp with one brow raised just slightly in a way that could be taken as challenging.

“She’s fit right?” Ryan asks.

Yaz rolls her eyes and scrolls back up to the post. “Ryan, it says she posted this two weeks ago. I’m sure she’s got plans.”

“She doesn’t, I’ve already asked.”

“You  _ what _ ?”

“I already asked. I emailed her an hour ago. Says she’s free the night of the party. She’s waiting for your response.”

Yaz wants to hit him — she would if he were here. “Why did you email her? I don’t even know if I’m taking a date to the party.”

“Why not, Yaz? It’s not like you’ve got many other choices anyways. Unless you wanna tell your coworkers you’ve been lyin’ about having a girlfriend all this time — which honestly looks quite sad.”

“It’s not —” Yaz huffs. “It’s not sad — I’m not even  _ looking  _ for a relationship right now, and I only lied so they’d stop inviting me out.”

“And that didn’t work, so now you’ve gotta either tell the truth or go all in. Which is it gonna be, mate?”

Yaz looks down at the picture on the screen of her phone.

Bloody hell.

* * *

She gets the email address from Ryan as she walks through the front door of her flat. He says her name is James (which almost puts Yaz off of it, because, not to push stereotypes but James is definitely a man’s name and it would  _ not  _ be hard to pretend to be a woman just to lure other women to a location to hurt them). Yaz uses an old email address to reach out, typing and deleting the message approximately 25 times while Sonya and her mum talk about Sonya’s new job over dinner.

“Yasmin, phone down at the table,” her dad scolds when Yaz doesn’t answer a question directed at her.

Yaz clicks the power button and places it face down on the table, chewing on her lower lip as she tries to think of the least weird way to ask this person (man or woman) to be her date to a company party full of cops.

She doesn’t get another free moment until after dinner, after her mum makes her wash the dishes as Sonya dries them next to her, and after she gets back into her room and kicks off her boots, peeling off her work uniform and hanging it over the desk chair.

She types into the email,  _ James, my friend Ryan gave me your contact info. He said you’re available the night of the party? _

It’s as nonchalant and not creepy as she’s gonna get, so she hits send and throws her phone onto her bed. She reaches around and unhooks her bra, letting it fall to the floor before she grabs a baggy t-shirt from her dresser and pulls it on. When she slides under the covers and picks up her phone a few minutes later, there’s a new email waiting for her.

_ JamesonJames13@gmail.com, 11:37 pm _ :  _ Hi! Yaz right? yeah, I’m available. Ryan said it’d be this thursday? _

_ JamesonJames13@gmail.com, 11:38 pm: Do I need to bring anything? Is it like a potluck or something? _

_ Y.Khan99@gmail.com, 11:38 pm: No, you don’t need to bring anything. Are you free on Tuesday to meet and go over some things? _

_ JamesonJames13@gmail.com, 11:40 pm: Brilliant yeah, I’m free. Let me give u my number, we can make plans to meet. There’s a great little cafe down the street from my flat, if u want to go there. _

James sends a phone number along with an address to a cafe nearby and Yaz saves both in her phone.

* * *

Yaz is early — just a bit early. Not even that much early.

She’s half an hour early.

Her leg bounces underneath the table as she picks at the skin on her thumb with her nail. The tea she’d ordered when she’d arrived is now cold as it sits untouched in front of her. Every time the bell jingles brightly over the door her head whips towards the entrance, expecting to see the woman from the pictures clad in the leather jacket and everything, and so far every time it’s someone that doesn’t look at all like the picture.

Yaz taps her thumb on the small table a few times before picking up her phone and swiping up to unlock it. She brings up the confirmation text she’d received from James less than an hour earlier saying she’d be there when she finished up with work, then swipes out of that and pulls up a browser window. The now familiar website is already brought up and Yaz scrolls down to the bottom where the black and white picture sits. She studies it for a few seconds while chewing on her lower lip, then looks up at the cafe patrons to see if any of them match the picture. None of them do so Yaz looks back down at the screen. She’s gotta admit, James is  _ really  _ pretty, and would definitely be Yaz’s type if the circumstances were any different.

“Yasmin Khan?” a voice says beside her, close enough to make her jump in her seat and slam her phone down facedown on the table like she’d just been caught looking at porn. Yaz looks over at the woman standing there, hands shoved into the pockets of a long grey coat. She smiles apologetically. “Sorry, sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you there. I assume you’re Yasmin?”

Heart beating hard against her chest, Yaz gives a small awkward laugh. “Sorry, I weren’t paying attention,” she says. “Yeah, yeah I’m Yaz — you can call me Yaz.”

James smiles brightly and Yaz feels her stomach give a flutter at how bright it is, how much it absolutely lights up her face (and the room around them, basically). “Yaz, brilliant. I’m James, from the emails. Do you want a coffee? Or another…” she trails off, nodding to Yaz’s cold tea.

“Oh, yeah, actually,” Yaz says, pushing back her chair and standing up. She throws the cup in the bin on their way up to the counter and James rummages around in her coat pocket before pulling out a small wallet.

“Just tea?” she asks, turning to Yaz when they get to the register. Yaz nods and James then rattles off another drink that sounds like it’ll be mostly sugar before handing her card to the woman.

“Let me pay for my own,” Yaz starts, reaching into her back pocket for her wallet.

James shakes her head and takes the card and receipt from the cashier, shoving them both into her pocket. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

They both move to the side to let the next people order. “You don’t have to pay my way. The party won’t have anything you need to pay for anyways.”

James rocks back on her heels and nods. “What kind of party is it going to be? Where do you work?”

“Police station. It’s close by, actually.”

James raises her brows in surprise. “You’re a fed?”

Yaz just barely keeps herself from rolling her eyes. “Yeah, we don’t call it that, though,” she says.

James nods. “So this party…”

“It’s at the station. Well, it’s at a building near the station. Next door.”

“And it’ll be full of police officers?”

“Right.”

James blows out a puff of air that moves the blonde hair that had fallen in front of her face. “Christ. I’m really gonna have to do my homework then, aren’t I?” she laughs.

The barista calls her name and James takes the two drinks, then hands a paper cup to Yaz.

“So you haven’t told me why you need a fake girlfriend for this party yet,” James says, leading them back to the table and setting her drink down before shrugging off her coat and draping it over the back of the chair. She’s wearing honest to god braces underneath, framing the rainbow across the front of a black shirt, tucked into the waistband of her jeans that barely reach the top of her boots. The sleeves of the white shirt she wears underneath barely come halfway down her forearms and Yaz wonders for a moment if she owns any clothes that are actually long enough for her limbs. “I assumed it was just a way to get them off your back, really.” She plops down in the chair and leans forward.

Yaz chews on her lower lip again and looks around the cafe for a second before her eyes land back on James studying her interestedly. The straw of the coffee (if you could even call it coffee — it looks more like a milkshake than anything) pulls down her bottom lip slightly as she takes a sip, eyes never leaving Yaz.

“It started as a lie, just to get out of after work drinks,” Yaz starts, looking back up to curious hazel eyes. “I didn’t think — I didn’t know my boss would actually expect to meet the fake girlfriend I had mentioned. I didn’t even know he  _ knew  _ about it.”

James nods like it makes sense and isn’t the literal plot to a rom-com (which this  _ isn’t _ , because it’s not like they’re going to fall in love or something. And besides, there are a lot of reasons it wouldn’t work between them — Yaz not wanting a relationship, being too busy with work, the length of this woman’s pants).

“So you’re really in it now, huh? Either tell the truth, or get a fake girlfriend.”

“Telling the truth isn’t an option,” Yaz says. Even the idea of admitting to her coworkers that she’d made up the Mysterious Girlfriend just to get out of drinks with them makes her uneasy. They’d never let her live it down. And they’d also force her to go out with them for the rest of time.

“You could always say you broke up before the party.”

Yaz shakes her head. “I don’t think they’d believe that. They’re very…”

“Nosy?”

Yaz snorts. “I were gonna say perceptive, but that works too.”

“Right then,” James says, taking another sip of her drink and setting it down on the table. “We’ve got a lot to learn about each other if we’re gonna convince a bunch of feds we’re a happy, healthy, romantic couple.” She grins. “You wanna start?”

* * *

_ how was the date? _

Yaz rolls her eyes at her phone as she walks away from the cafe. She’d spent almost two hours sat at that table with James and honestly, it had felt like only a few minutes. Like some sort of time vortex had taken the cafe and slowed everything else while they asked questions back and forth, sometimes writing the important answers in the notes app on their phones. She’s funny — like, really funny — but in the way you don’t really expect, and she’s obviously charming with a bright, bubbly grin and long winded rants about the most random of topics.

Her coworkers might actually believe this lie.

_ Wasn’t a date _ , Yaz sends back.

The reply is almost immediate;  _ is she as hot as the pic?? _

Of course he’d ask that. She’s not even surprised.  _ I’m not answering that. _

_ so yes??? _

Yaz ignores him and slips the phone into her jeans pocket, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets to try and conserve some warmth in the biting cold.

* * *

_ should we wear matching jumpers? _

Yaz stares at the message on the blinding screen for a second, wondering who the fuck James is before she remembers the date ( _ not a date _ ) from the day previous.

Also, it’s three in the morning.

_ Absolutely not,  _ she types back.

She’s about to fall back asleep when her phone chimes next to her.

_ do you want matching necklaces? _

_ As long as they won’t turn my skin green, _ Yaz sends.

_ I would only buy you the best, yasmin khan. _

* * *

_ I’m on my way sorry _ .

Yaz looks down at her phone, stepping from one foot to the other to try and keep herself warm in the crisp night air. Her breath fogs out in front of her and she shoves the phone and her hands in her jacket pockets. She can hear laughter and music spill out from the building when two people open the doors to enter, warm air hitting the backs of Yaz’s legs. It’s bloody cold and James is late and Yaz might kick her ass if she didn’t need her so badly. She’s already gotten three comments from various coworkers asking where her Mysterious Girlfriend is, and one of them even mentioned a bet that Yaz made her up (which, okay, he’s  _ right  _ but still). Her toes are slightly numb in her boots and the snow on the pavement crunches under them as she keeps switching feet, bouncing a little to keep warm.

“There she is, woman of the hour. Where’s your other half?”

Yaz exaggeratedly rolls her eyes, more for Jack’s benefit than anything.

“Oh, don’t give me that, Yaz. You know I’m your favourite one here,” he says, walking up to her in a long dark trench coat, hands shoved into the pockets. His grin would be contagious if she wasn’t so bloody cold.

“She’s on her way,” Yaz says.

“Uh huh. Listen, are you sure she exists? Cause a few of us have a bet going —” He dodges Yaz’s arm that swings out to hit him in the shoulder, laughing the entire time. “I’ve got my money in, don’t let me down, kid.”

“Jack, I’ve been working here for 6 years. I’m not a kid anymore.”

“Hey, don’t say that. You’ll always be a rookie in my book,” he says, putting his arm around her shoulders and pulling her close. She can smell his cologne on the jacket pressed against her cheek and she tries wiggling away.

“Let go or I’ll drop you,” she mumbles against his coat.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Yaz pulls her hands out of her pockets and pushes at Jack who stumbles back once, grin already on his face as he looks from Yaz to James standing there, hands shoved into the pockets of her leather jacket. She’s wearing a literal rainbow scarf looped around her neck and jeans cuffed halfway up her boots (a bit longer than the ones she’d worn previous).

“Yasmin, don’t be rude, introduce us,” Jack says, sticking his hand out with a charming grin. “Captain Jack Harkness.”

“Not a captain anymore, mate,” Yaz reminds him. “Jack, this is James. James, Jack.”

She takes Jack’s hand and shakes it, meeting his gaze with a slight lift of her chin. “Pleasure to meet you, Jack. Yaz has told me a lot about you.” That’s a lie — Yaz told her his name and that he was probably going to ask a lot of questions — but the way it so easily rolls off her tongue, sounding believable even to Yaz’s ears, surprises her.

Jack takes the bait and looks over at Yaz, raising his brows. “Have you? Yaz, I knew I was your favorite but c’mon.”

“She said you once shot yourself in the foot,” James replies with a half smirk (and Yaz doesn’t even  _ remember  _ mentioning that with more than a passing comment). James’ hand reaches for Yaz’s like it’s muscle memory and she tangles their cold fingers together.

“ _ Almost _ ! I  _ almost  _ shot myself in the foot — I missed. Wasn’t my fault, either,” Jack defends.

“It were pretty close, mate,” Yaz points out, then says, “Give us a minute, yeah?”

Jack’s brows raise and he backs up towards the door. “ _ Right _ , you want some  _ alone time.  _ Don’t stay out here too long, kids. You’ll catch a cold.” And with that he turns and goes into the building. Warm air rushes out for a few seconds as the door closes behind him, and then they’re alone on the sidewalk.

Yaz drops her hand. “Sorry ‘bout him. He’s a lot sometimes.”

James waves it off. “I’ve had worse,” she says, digging around in her jacket pocket. “Also, I got us matching necklaces. I figured it could be like a  _ thing,  _ y’know, how couples do that sometimes.”

“Have you never been in a relationship?” Yaz realizes she actually doesn’t know. They talked a lot in the cafe a few days ago but there’s still a lot she doesn’t know about this woman — namely, most of her past.

James’ face is unreadable as she pulls a small chain from her pocket. “Been a while,” she says, voice even and measured. “Here, this one is yours.” She holds it up and the rose gold heart shines in the streetlight. It’s simple, something Yaz would actually wear on her day to day ( _ if _ she were in a relationship, which she is not — not really, anyways). The heart is barely the size of her pinky nail and hangs off the chain at an angle.

“Turn around, I’ll put it on you,” James says, motioning for Yaz to turn.

Yaz does so, pulling her hair to the side. James reaches around and cold fingers brush the short hairs on the back of Yaz’s neck as she fiddles with the clasp, goosebumps rising in the wake of the cold.

“Where did you get these?” Yaz asks. Her hand comes up and touches the small heart now resting on her shirt.

“Oh, just bought em’. Got a friend that owed me a favor.” James works on the clasp for a few seconds more before dropping her hands and stepping back. When Yaz turns back around her eyes go to the necklace and she gives a grin. “Brilliant, looks great. I’ve got one too, under me scarf. Shall we go in?”

“God, yes. It’s bloody freezing out here,” Yaz says.

James darts to the door and holds it open, letting Yaz walk in first.

* * *

The party is...a lot.

They’re handed champagne almost as soon as they get their coats off — James shrugging off her leather jacket and taking Yaz’s coat from her to hang up, like a true gentleman — and Yaz turns to her right outside the coat closet. Her eyes briefly flick up and down her outfit; her black shirt is replaced with a blue jumper, sleeves pulled up to her elbows, with mustard yellow braces clipped to her jeans. The chain on her ear shines in the light and matches the small necklace that rests over the jumper — the necklace that matches Yaz’s (but hers is silver).

“Ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” James says, looking anxious for the first time since they’d met (two days ago, but still). “Do you think they have those little sandwiches at the snack table?”

Yaz follows her eyes towards the table set up against the far wall, covered in various snacks and desserts. “You can go find out, if y’like. I’ll be over there.” She nods her head to where Jack leans against a wall, talking up some guy she’s never actually seen before (maybe he’s the spouse of someone here? Wouldn’t be the first time Jack has done that — and ended up with both of them).

“Right, got it,” James says. Her eyes dart around them for a few seconds before she picks up Yaz’s hand and places a soft kiss to her knuckles, a glint to her eyes. “I’ll be right back...honey dearest.”

“I’ll kick you out if you say that again,” Yaz deadpans. James grins and lets out a breath that ghosts over the back of Yaz’s hand. Yaz’s stomach flutters in response (to the breath, not like, anything else, obviously). 

“Sweet pea?” she tries again.

Yaz shakes her head. “Absolutely not.”

“Honey bunch?”

Yaz can feel the edges of her lips start to twitch with each ridiculous name James tries. “You’re really pushing it.”

“I’ll stick to Yaz then. It’s a good name.” And then she’s off — dropping Yaz’s hand and turning on her heel and making a beeline for the snack table, her sights set on the food.

Yaz watches her go for a few seconds before tearing her eyes away and starting the walk over to Jack who now stands at a table with three of her coworkers. He’s animatedly talking and moving his hands, his drink sloshing in the cup as he probably talks about yet  _ another  _ brush with death (“I’ve died so many times they’re starting to call me immortal.”). His face brightens when he sees Yaz approaching and he holds his arm out like he’s going to pull her into another hug.

“There she is! That was fast, I figured you’d be at least another ten minutes,” he says with a suggestive wink.

“One day I really will report you to HR,” Yaz deadpans, pushing him to the side when he tries to wrap his arm around her shoulder. She leans forward on the tall table between him and Bill and takes a sip from her glass.

“Even when you’ve told your girlfriend  _ so much about me _ ?” he says.

“She’s given you a big head. I’m definitely never leaving you two alone.”

“Aw,  _ come on, _ Yaz. I feel like we’d be a great team!”

“So she really exists?” Bill asks from across the table.

Yaz gives her a glare. “ _ Of course _ she exists. What, did you think I was lyin’?”

“Dunno, mate. I’ve seen worse. Is she fit?” Bill aims the last part to Jack who nods enthusiastically.

“Very. Short, blonde, looks like a little biker. Though I bet she’s not  _ that  _ rowdy in b—”

“If you finish that sentence I will pull your tongue out,” Yaz threatens.

“Where is she?” Bill turns and leans her elbows on the tall table behind her, eyes scanning the crowd. “That one?” She points to a blonde woman who is _very_ close to one of the detectives from a different team, her hand on his arm as she laughs. His spiky hair sticks up tall and messy and he smiles at her reaction, hands shoved into the pockets of his striped suit as he leans against the wall.

“No, the other blonde — the one at the snack table,” Jack says.

“ _ Really _ ?”

“Well you don’t have to sound  _ shocked _ ,” Yaz snaps, with absolutely no bite behind the words.

Bill turns back around and raises an eyebrow in Yaz’s direction. “I’m more shocked you’ve got a girlfriend at all. Thought you didn’t leave your flat.”

“I’m sure she takes the trash out sometimes. Could’ve met her like that,” Jack offers.

“Or at the store,” Bill pipes in.

“I want a new team,” Yaz states.

“I think she’s the top,” Bill says to Jack, referring back to his previous comment. “Short and blonde, looks like she could get angry. I bet she’s a total top.”

“Really?” Jack glaces over Bill’s shoulder then back. “I dunno, I feel it could go either way.”

“Are we really going to talk about my sex life in the middle of a party?” Yaz cuts in before taking a long swig of champagne. She’s gonna need it around these two.

“I’m just sayin, she’s the top,” Bill says.

“Who’s the top?” James asks, suddenly appearing between Yaz and Jack and setting down a small plate piled high with pretzels and mini cupcakes and those little sandwiches she’d been asking about. She looks to her left at Yaz with a raised eyebrow and takes a bite of her sandwich.

Bill looks positively  _ delighted _ , sticking her hand out. “Bill Potts. You must be the  _ mysterious girlfriend. _ ”

“Dunno if mysterious is the word I’d use,” James says through a mouthful of food, taking her hand and giving a firm shake. “James, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Absolutely.” Bill’s eyes the necklace resting on her t-shirt almost immediately, then hones in on Yaz’s matching one. It’s so quick James doesn’t even notice but Yaz sees the slight raise of Bill’s brow. “Nice necklaces. Never seen you wear that, Yaz.”

Yaz takes another drink of champagne — her glass is getting low already,  _ god _ . “Usually keep it under my shirt.”

“Right. They look pretty new.”

“ _ Bill _ ,” Yaz warns, feeling her stomach twist at how close Bill is to calling their bluff.

A hand snakes around her waist and pulls her close to James’ side. Her hand is cold through Yaz’s shirt but her side is warm and Yaz fits quite nicely, slotted in next to her. James rubs the material over her hip with her thumb absentmindedly as she chews on a sandwich and talks to Jack.

Bill studies them for a few seconds before taking another sip of champagne. “So James, how long have you two been together?”

James stops talking to Jack and looks at Bill, then Yaz. “About four months, I think. We went slow for a while, kept it quiet just so we’d have time to get to know each other.”

“Four months and you  _ never  _ told us about your girlfriend, Yaz?”

“Oh don’t give her that,” Jack says, not even knowing he’s coming to Yaz’s rescue. “To be fair, if I had a girlfriend I  _ definitely  _ wouldn’t bring her around this crowd.”

Bill hums and takes another sip, eyeing James. “Where’d you meet?”

“My bar,” James says easily,  _ convincingly. _ “I were workin’, she came in on her own. Got to talkin’. Love at first sight, you could say.”

“You went out for drinks without us?” Bill asks Yaz.

“It were one drink, I wasn’t even there that long,” Yaz defends (and okay, her lies sound kind of convincing too, which is good).

Jack raises his eyebrows suggestively. “ _ Right,  _ so it was  _ that  _ kind of love at first sight.”

“I really will report you to HR,” Yaz threatens, finishing off her glass.

“I’m just curious, can’t fault me for that.”

James looks over at her, brows knitted together with a slight crease formed between them. “So am I the top?”

And yeah, Yaz could blame the champagne or the anxiety from the party or the way Bill leans forward a bit, ready for the answer, or how Jack looks absolutely  _ delighted  _ as he looks between them. Either way, she says, “Not a chance.”

James’ cheeks flush and she takes a long drink from the glass in front of her. Jack cheers triumphantly.

Bill slaps the table and leans back, taking a long drink. “Bloody hell, I really thought I were right.”

* * *

There’s apparently party games. And James is sort of competitive — which is absolutely not a bad thing because they win two out of three games and each time James pulls her in for a hug close to her body, kissing her cheek with chapped lips and grabbing her hand excitedly, a big grin spread on her face. They each get a chocolate bar for the second prize in the last game and James munches on her own happily, still chuffed with herself about winning the first and second games.

Yaz ends up leaning against the wall, James pressed against her side with her hand in the back pocket of Yaz’s jeans as she sips at the same glass of champagne she’s been drinking all night.

“Not much of a drinker?” Yaz asks, tearing her eyes away from Jack tying to stack gift boxes on top of each other on the table. One falls and he has to start over. His team groans from the sidelines.

“Not champagne. Love a good whisky. Fits, I s’pose.”

“Fits?”

“My full name  _ is  _ Jameson.”

Yaz pulls away a bit to look at her. “Are you serious?” she asks.

James nods. “Yeah, what did you think it was short for?”

“ _ James _ ? I didn’t think it was short for anything.”

“Oh,  _ nah _ . Well, it probably would’ve been changed had I gotten adopted early enough but by the time me mum took me home I were old enough to know my name so it just stuck. She...isn’t fond of it.”

Yaz chuckles. “Your mum isn’t fond of you being named after whisky?”

James shrugs and frowns suddenly. “She’s not fond of a lot.”

Yaz feels her stomach clench — she truly doesn’t know a lot about this woman other than surface details (and suddenly she realizes everything she  _ does  _ know is a bit vague, the details fuzzy or not there altogether).

“Do you know your birth parents?” she asks, then wants to  _ slap  _ herself. God, why the fuck would she even ask that? “You don’t have to answer that — I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked —”

“I don’t. Neither does she. Records got lost or somethin’, I dunno,” James says with another shrug.

“I’m sorry,” Yaz says, because that’s all she can think of saying. She still wants to hit herself for even asking that — like her mouth is working on its own accord and not consulting her brain first.

“It’s alright.” James gives her a small smile when she looks over. They’re close, faces only inches apart as they lean together comfortably (a bit too comfortably, if Yaz were in the headspace to examine  _ that _ ). “You like your family?” she asks, voice suddenly quieter.

Yaz chuckles a bit. “Yeah, I guess. I love them, they drive me absolutely mad, though. But that’s family, I guess.”

“If you two are gonna snog you’ve gotta leave the party,” Bill says, suddenly in front of them. Yaz jumps back in shock, jostling James’ hand out of her pocket in the process.

“God, Bill, one day you’re gonna give me a heart attack,” Yaz says, putting her hand over the hard beat of her heart.

“Won’t be too bad. Maybe they’ll hook you up to those machines, you’ll be like a robot,” Bill says, grinning at Yaz. “Sunder says he wants to meet her.” She hooks her thumb in James’ direction. “Says it’s urgent, with the utmost importance. And ASAP.”

Of course he wants to meet her — he’s been as much of a mentor in her career as Jack has (if not more). He’d demanded to “check out” the last girl she’d dated, she really should’ve expected this.

“I’m sorry,” she says to James. “My boss wants to meet you. We have to.”

“Lead the way, babe,” James says, tangling their hands together.

“God, you two make me truly sick. I think I might vom.”

“That might be all the champagne you’ve had, mate,” Yaz says over her shoulder as she pulls James through the crowd of people and towards her superior at a table on the other end of the venue.

It’s not bad — it actually goes really well, all things considered. Sunder isn’t a mean guy, though his personality might make it seem like it (she’d been told off far too many times as a probationary officer for asking to do harder work). He’s easy to work with and really took a liking to Yaz as a probationary officer after she’d told him she wanted something to challenge her and he’d given her an assignment that she’d absolutely aced.

He asks questions, but not in the suspicious way Bill had. They’re genuine and James answers them with ease, holding onto Yaz’s hand the entire time. She smiles and laughs at the right times and even makes up a story about when they’d met, how she’d fallen head over heels in love and asked her out that very night.

Sunder seems impressed by the time he’s pulled away by another officer and when he finally turns and leaves, James slouches like a balloon deflating. She lets out a deep breath. “That were stressful,” she says, taking a longer sip of champagne.

“You did great, thank you. I think he really likes you actually.”

“Really?” James looks over at her and her eyes are shining under the overhead lights, looking sort of excited at the prospect of Yaz’s boss liking her (though that would be absolutely idiotic since they’re literally  _ fake dating _ and these people won’t matter to her in a few hours).

“Yeah. Jack definitely likes you, Bill does too. They’re nosy and terrible but they’re good people, mostly.”

James looks chuffed with herself. “I’m glad. I don’t make loads of good first impressions. A bit socially awkward.”

“Can’t even tell.”

* * *

“Where do you work, James?”

James swallows the mini cupcake she’d just shoved into her mouth. “Have me own bar.”

Jack raises his brows. “A bar  _ owner _ ? That’s impressive. Where is it? I’ll have to come check it out. Your work hours  _ really  _ stop Yaz from being able to come to Friday night drinks with the team.”

“Jack, no one wants you to show up at their workplace,” Yaz says.

“Excuse you, I am a  _ delight  _ at bars,” Jack defends.

“Last time I went out for drinks with you all, you almost got the piss kicked out of you.”

“I talked him down, didn’t I?”

Yaz scoffs. “ _ Barely _ .”

“Barely still counts!” he defends.

“One day you’re really gonna get it and I’m not gonna do a thing to stop them.”

“You were about ready to fight him as I was, if I remember correctly.”

James latches onto that and turns to Yaz with raised brows, a smile teasing the edges of her mouth. “Really?”

Yaz feels her cheeks flush. “I were...really drunk,” she tries to defend.

“Oh, yeah. You should see angry Yaz, she’s feisty. Was ready to start throwin’ fists at a man twice her size and three times her weight.” Jack laughs. “She says she saved my ass but really I was the one that dragged her out of the bar that night.”

“I don’t remember it happening like that,” Yaz mumbles.

“Don’t think I’ve seen drunk, angry Yaz yet,” James says. “I’m gonna have to experience that, I think.”

If it were possible, her cheeks flush even harder. “ _ You _ are not gonna experience  _ anything _ here.”

“Oh, you’re no fun, Yaz,” Jack says, then turns the conversation back to James. “So, a bar. Been in the business long?”

“A few years,” James answers easily (probably the truth — there’s not really any reason to lie about that).

“Impressive. How’d you start that?”

Yaz feels the shift in the energy as soon as Jack asks the question. James’ face falls slightly and she looks away for a split second. “Oh, uh, bought it with my previous partner. She’s...gone now. And left it to me, I guess.”

“Previous partner?” Jack asks, looking interested.

“Jack _ , _ ” Yaz warns, clearly sensing James’ sudden discomfort with the subject.

“Yeah, it were a while ago,” James says vaguely. Her hand has gone stiff in Yaz’s and she bites the edge of her lip.

“What happened to her?”

“ _ Jack, _ ” Yaz snaps, glaring at him. Jack raises his hands defensively.

“I’m just curious.”

“You can ignore him if you’d like,” Yaz says to James.

James looks visibly uncomfortable as she drops Yaz’s hand and pulls at the neck of her jumper like it’s too tight. “She’s gone, not really important the circumstances.” She hands her glass of half drank champagne to Yaz and nods to the front doors. “I’m just gonna get some air, yeah? I’ll be back in a bit.” And with that she turns on her heel and swiftly weaves her way through the thick crowd and out the front doors, into the cold night air.

“Thanks for that, mate,” Yaz deadpans.

Jack, for his part, looks apologetic. “I didn’t mean to push, Yaz. I thought —”

“It’s fine, just —” She hands him the two glasses and looks back to where James had disappeared. “I’ll be back.”

James is leaning against the wall next to the front doors, arms crossed over her chest and one foot braced on the wall behind her. Her breath fogs in front of her in the cold December air and her jumper sleeves are pulled down over her hands in an obvious attempt to conserve warmth.

Yaz walks up and silently holds out her leather jacket she’d picked up from the coat rack inside. James takes it with a grateful smile and slips it on before leaning back against the wall.

“Sorry about him, he can pry a bit too much,” Yaz says, leaning against the wall next to her and shoving her hands in her pockets. The brick is cold against her back and seeps through the layer of her coat quickly.

“It’s fine — I should’ve been prepared for it. It just...still comes as a shock.”

Yaz doesn’t respond — she doesn’t even  _ have  _ a response. Was she married? Engaged? Did the spouse leave or die? Does it even matter which in the long run?

“She died, about two years ago,” James says after a moment of silence. She looks out to the street and frowns.

“You don’t have to tell me —”

“I know, I just —” James bites her bottom lip between white teeth as she turns to study Yaz’s face, hazel eyes flicking over her features like she’s reading Yaz like an open book. “I weren’t there — she had a habit of going off on her own for days at a time with no notice, so I didn’t even think anything was wrong until she didn’t come back. By the time I got to the hospital she were too far gone.”

“I’m sorry,” Yaz says, because that’s the only thing she really  _ can  _ say — the only thing that feels right. She thinks about reaching out, so James knows she’s there, but she digs her nails into her palm instead.

“‘S alright, it’s been a while,” James says with a shrug and pained smile, looking back out to the street.

“How do you cope with that?”

She’s quiet for a long moment, the cold air fogging in front of her as she takes deep breaths. “I carry her with me,” she finally says, quietly but with a certain hardness to her voice — but, no, it’s not really a hardness. It’s more of...acceptance. Strength, to a certain extent. “What she would’ve thought and said and done. I made her a part of who I am, so even though she’s gone from the world, she’s never gone from me.” James nudges Yaz with her shoulder and raises her brows. “Do y’wanna keep talkin’ about my dead wife all night or do you wanna go back inside?”

Yaz rolls her eyes at the crass joke. “I didn’t want to talk about your dead wife to begin with,” she points out.

“Yeah, but you did. Think she’d like you — especially after hearing about the drunk, angry Yaz story.”

Yaz feels...she doesn’t know how she feels about that.  _ Physically  _ she feels cold as fuck, her toes and fingers had gone numb minutes ago. She tries  _ not  _ to feel the twist of her stomach, and definitely does not examine it any further to see if it’s a good or bad feeling.

“I wasn’t  _ that  _ drunk, truly,” Yaz defends, pushing off the wall and holding the door open for James. “He’s definitely exaggerating.”

“I’d pay real money to see you drunk, Yasmin Khan.”

“You’ll be keeping’ that money, then, cause that’ll never happen,” Yaz quips, following James back into the building.

* * *

Jack  _ does _ apologize. And he does it while pulling James close to his chest and talking into her hair, and James, for her part, doesn’t push him away as fast as Yaz would’ve. Bill gives them a suggestive raise of her brows when James says they’re going back to her place for the night (they’re definitely  _ not _ ) and says, “Have fun with  _ that _ .”

They’re still wearing their jackets from the short venture outside earlier and James grabs the scarf from the rack, looping it around her neck when they exit the building. The street is quiet and dark, the only light from the orange glow of the streetlamps lining the pavement. Yaz shoves her hands into her pockets to try and keep them at least a bit warm and turns to James.

“Thank you, for doin’ this. Really,” Yaz says a bit awkwardly. What are they supposed to do now? It’s not like...a paid job, and giving her a hug feels a bit intimate (even though they’ve literally been holding hands or touching the entire night). James flicks blonde hair from her face and gives Yaz a bright grin.

“No problem, Yaz. I love those little cupcakes, were completely worth it.”

“Do you need a ride home? I’ve got my car with me,” Yaz says, trying to keep the question nonchalant.

James shakes her head and makes a face. “Oh,  _ nah.  _ My flat’s just a bit that way, not too long of a walk.”

“James, c’mon, it’s freezing. The least I can do is give you a ride when you pretended to be my girlfriend all night. I know my coworkers aren’t the...easiest to deal with.” Yaz fishes in her pocket and pulls out her car keys. “My car’s just right there, I can drop you off.”

James looks behind her at the way she’d pointed, then back at Yaz, biting her lip for a second. The crisp December wind blows hard for a few seconds and James nods. “Alright. It’s not far, I swear.”

“It’s fine, I really don’t mind, honestly,” Yaz says, already walking towards the car park.

It really isn’t that far, and a few minutes later Yaz puts the car in park in front of a small building, bright light spilling from the small windows downstairs.

“You live in your bar?” 

A neon sign hangs above the front door, advertising itself as _The_ _Tardis_. The bright blue front door sticks out like a sore thumb on the street lined with more neutral buildings. A few people enter and Yaz catches a glimpse of amber yellow light inside.

“Above, actually. Looks small but it’s bigger on the inside, I swear.”

Yaz chuckles. “Right, I’m sure.”

James taps her fingers on her thigh for a second before pulling the handle on the door, turning to Yaz just as the interior lights of the car turn on.

“Thanks for the ride, Yaz. And the party. And the food. I had a nice time.”

“You know you don’t have to  _ lie _ .”

James bites her bottom lip and smiles. “Guess this is goodbye then,” she says, opening the door further and sliding off the seat into the cold night air. “Come round me bar sometime, I’ll buy you a drink.”

Yaz raises a brow. “You offer all your customers free drinks?”

“Not all my customers are my fake girlfriend, are they?” James says with a smirk before stepping back and closing the door.

Yaz idles in the street until James opens the blue door and turns around to wave at the car before slipping into the dark interior of the bar.

* * *

“Did you kiss?” Ryan throws the basketball at the hoop (and misses). It soars past and bounces into the dead grass next to the court.

Yaz shoves her hands between her thighs. “Did we really have to meet here? Couldn’t we have met at your house? Or somewhere with heat?”

“Oh, c’mon Yaz. It’s not that cold out,” Ryan yells over his shoulder as he picks up the ball. “Tell me about the date.”

Yaz rolls her eyes and bounces her leg, trying to conserve some body heat (though the metal bench she’s sat on at the side of the court is not helping in the slightest). “There’s nothing to tell — it’s like, not even classified as a date. It were all fake anyways.”

“If it were fake then why do you look like someone’s just run over your dog?”

“I don’t —” Ryan gives her a look. Yaz frowns. “It’s not important. It were fake — she helped me out, and now we won’t ever have to see each other again.”

Ryan throws the ball at the hoop again. It hits the backboard with a clang and goes bouncing down the court. “You  _ could,  _ if you wanted. You said she owns a bar?”

“I’m not goin’ to her bar, Ryan.”

Ryan picks up the ball and turns to her but Yaz interrupts whatever he was going to say (she knows him far too well). “ _ No _ , you’re not allowed to go there either.”

“How did you know I was gonna ask that? I could’ve been askin’ something entirely different,” Ryan defends.

“Were you?” Yaz challenges.

He shakes his head and laughs, throwing the ball at the hoop again. “Nah, was totally gonna ask.”

She  _ really _ needs new friends.


	2. five cops walk into a bar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> yaz has the absolute worst (or best) friends in history — it really just depends how you look at it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and we’re back. so glad everyone loved the first part thank u everyone for commenting it means the world to me <3

The girlfriend-at-the-party thing doesn’t help her. At all.

It actually makes things a bit worse, honestly.

For one, Jack asks about James almost daily, raising his eyebrows suggestively, and Bill is almost as bad as him with her constant innuendos and comments about how fit Yaz’s girlfriend is. Then add on now that she’s dangled this piece of meat over shark infested waters, the rest of her team has latched on and constantly asks when James is going to come for drinks with them.

James is working, or has to visit family, or go grocery shopping (at 10:30 at night, Yaz? _Really_?), or needs picked up from a party for a friend, or wants to stay in tonight. Yaz pulls out every single lie she can think of until she starts repeating herself, and remembering the next day which lie she’d told the night before is sort of exhausting.

(Also, it makes it a little hard for Yaz to forget about James, her fake girlfriend, when she’s constantly thinking about her.)

Jack asks this time, less than a month after the company party, after the holidays and New Years and Yaz getting thrown up on by some guy she had to pull out of a pub at 3 in the morning. He says it so nonchalantly that Yaz doesn’t even pick up on the extra glint in his eye or the way he smiles after it’s out.

“Coming for drinks tonight, Yaz? You could bring James. Would love to see her again.”

“I’m not bringing James to drink with you lot,” Yaz answers almost automatically by this point.

“What, don’t think she could handle it? Thought she owned a bar,” Bill says, leaning against Yaz’s desk.

“I’m not bringing her, Bill,” Yaz says, digging around in the bottom desk drawer for another sharpie. “She’s probably already got plans.”

And so maybe it’s the fact she’s so distracted that she doesn’t notice the same glint in Bill’s eyes that was shining in Jack’s moments before, or the look they share over her head, or the raised brow and nod before Bill pushes off her desk with an excuse about needing to get some work done.

She’s home, uniform off and hair pulled out of the braid she keeps it in for work, elbow deep in hot water, when her phone goes off on the counter. Sonya looks over and raises her brows.

“ _James_?” she reads off the screen. “You straight now?”

“Shut up,” Yaz mumbles, shutting off the tap on the sink and drying her hands before picking up the phone. She quickly makes a beeline for her room, shutting the door behind her as she accepts the call and holds the phone up to her ear. “Hello?”

“Yaz! Hi, how are ya?” James sounds a bit anxious at the obviously forced small talk.

“I’m...good. How are you?” Yaz asks, confused but boxed in by societal niceties.

There’s the sound of loud conversation and music playing in the background as James speaks — it sounds like she’s at a bar (maybe her work?). “I’m great, absolutely brilliant. Just a quick question, you remember how we were pretend dating last month? For that party with your coworkers?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, they’re here. At my bar.”

Yaz frowns. “Wait, who?” Her brain takes a few seconds to catch up and then her stomach sinks. “ _My_ _coworkers_?”

“Yeah, Jack and Bill and a few others — one lad called Kevin who looks like he’s gonna need an Uber home. Or a ride to A&E.”

“Oh god, James, I’m so sorry, I told them not to —”

“It’s fine, it’s fine. Listen, they’re asking for you — a lot. They want me to convince you to come out.”

Yaz runs a hand down her face, wanting to actually scream. _Of course_ they tracked down the bar she owns and showed up there to force James and Yaz to come out with them. Yaz really should’ve known that would happen.

“I’m really sorry, James. You can tell them to piss off,” Yaz says with a little more force behind it than is probably necessary (but honestly she’s ready to throttle her coworkers, and murder Jack and Bill). 

James sounds distracted when she answers. “Oh, _nah_. But I do think they’d stop yelling about you if you made an appearance, though. They’re quite loud.”

“God, right, yeah, no problem. I’ll come and have them go to a different bar,” Yaz says, already searching around her bedroom floor for her jeans. She holds the phone between her cheek and shoulder as she pulls her sweats down and kicks them off. “I’m really sorry, you don’t have to talk to them, just — if you could just not mention the dating thing —”

“Yaz, of course I’m not gonna mention it. They’re really not bad, just a bit loud but that’s not worse than anyone else here.” James’ voice cuts out and Yaz hears her name being yelled from somewhere not even remotely close to the phone. “Yeah, they’ve seen me on the phone. I think they know I’m talkin’ to you.”

“Bloody hell, I’m quite literally going to murder them.” Yaz buttons her jeans and shoves her feet into her shoes. “I’ll be there soon.”

“That’s fine, take your time. I’m gettin’ them another round. Think they’ll be paying my electric bill with the tab they’re wracking up.”

She’s in such a rush leaving that the only explanation she gives her parents is “friend emergency” called over her shoulder as she shoves her arms into her leather jacket and grabs the keys in the dish by the door.

A few minutes later she pulls into a parking space and shuts the car off, slipping out and practically stomping towards the bright blue door. The sign above the bar is lit up in bright blue neon and flickers slightly when the door slams behind her.

Yaz hears them as soon as she walks in — the loudest group in this entire bloody bar. Of course they are. Her annoyance is at an all time high as she pushes her way through the crowd of people (apparently this bar is quite popular on Friday nights) and towards where she thinks her coworkers reside.

She’s expecting quite a few of them, led by Bill and Jack and probably tormenting James as she gives them their drinks. She’s expecting to corral them together and force them out of the bar. She’s expecting to pour Kevin into an Uber home and force her coworkers to find somewhere else to drink, because here is off limits (if only for James’ sake).

She’s not expecting the scene that plays out in front of her as she steps out of the crowd.

They’re pretty drunk, all of them. A few play darts with a board hung on the wall next to the booth, and Bill looks like she’s chatting up the bartender who is just trying to collect the empty glasses (though she doesn’t seem like she minds too much when Bill puts her hand on her arm and the woman laughs, short brown hair brushing her shoulders). Jack is sat at a small round table, his coat draped over the back of the seat and white shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he holds out his hand. James is in her usual attire; black short sleeved shirt (minus the white undershirt), mustard yellow braces, jeans that are too short, and boots. She flicks hair from in front of her face and holds onto Jack’s hand, and when Kevin slaps the table they both flex their arms.

They’re arm wrestling.

Jack smirks cockily and says something that gets drowned out by the other noise in the bar but his face falls when James says something back, her hand moving his knuckles closer and closer to the table. Her bicep flexes and stretches the short sleeve of her shirt, muscles visible under the skin. She clenches her teeth and Yaz can see a vein on her neck stick out when she flips her hair to one side, putting more pressure on Jack’s hand. Jack grabs onto the table for support but it doesn’t even matter as his knuckles touch the rough wood and they both let go. James stands, holding her arms out triumphantly like she’s just won the lottery or hit the jackpot on a slot machine. When she turns, her arms fall to her sides as she catches sight of Yaz standing there.

“Oh, hi Yaz. He uh —” She sheepishly looks back to where Jack is nursing his loss with a pint (and a lot of ribbing from Bill nearby). “Sorry, how much of that did you see?”

Yaz’s mouth is dry. Like absolutely parched. She’s not sure if it was this dry a minute ago but now it feels like she’s been running a marathon without a drop of water.

“Saw you kick his ass,” Yaz says and her eyes _do not_ dart down to James’ arms (seriously, where is she hiding all that muscle?).

James opens her mouth to respond when Bill interrupts. “Yaz! Finally!” she yells, standing up from the booth and carefully walking over to Yaz — the bartender has gone back to the bar (probably with Bill’s number on a napkin in her pocket). She looks to be a few drinks in by the way she weaves around Jack’s chair and smiles big in their direction.

“Yaz! Were waitin’ for you to show up, mate. Got your girlfriend to do a shot with us,” Bill says.

Yaz raises her brows at James who flushes (it is _really_ hot with all these people in here).

“Here, I’ve brought you a beer. James said she didn’t know your favourite, how could you leave out that important information?” Bill holds out a glass bottle that Yaz has no choice but to take, lest she let go. “Anyways, Jack said he wants a rematch of that pool game we played a few months back — y’know, back before you dumped us for this hot —”

“Right, I see you’ve had enough to drink,” Yaz says, handing the bottle to James. “Let’s get you all to another bar, cause you can’t stay at this one.”

Bill frowns and takes a step back when Yaz tries to take her by the wrist. “What are you talkin’ about?”

“Bill, you can’t just _show up_ at my girlfriend’s work and demand she join you for drinks. How’d you even find her, anyways?”

Bill snorts and takes the bottle from James who looks between them like she’s watching a tennis match. “Weren’t hard, mate. She’s pretty easy to track down.” Bill takes a swig from the bottle. “Listen, are we playing or not? I can order another round of shots —”

“Bill, don’t —”

“James, can you get Clara to bring us another round? Have her put it on my tab,” Bill says to James, getting far closer than is actually necessary. “Also, is she single? I forgot to ask.”

“ _Bill,_ I’m not drinking with you —” Yaz grabs James’ arm before she can go back to the bar. “Don’t get them anything, they’re _leaving_.”

“We’re not, and you can’t make us. What, you gonna pull out your police trainin’ on us?” Bill challenges, crossing her arms over her chest and raising her chin a bit.

Yaz rolls her eyes. Honestly she kind of _does_ want to drag Bill out of here by the back of her coat — and probably would if she didn’t think she’d get her ass kicked. She rubs a hand over her face and fully turns to her friend, trying to make her eyes look as pleading as she can. “Please, Bill. Just go to another bar. I don’t want her to be uncomfortable with you lot here.”

Bill’s expression softens as she studies Yaz’s face and she looks over her shoulder at James. “You uncomfortable with us here?” James opens and closes her mouth for a second but she doesn’t say anything. “You don’t gotta lie,” Bill adds.

Yaz looks over at James just in time to see her shake her head (is everyone around her out to ruin her life?). “No, not really. You were askin’ for Yaz a lot so I thought —”

“That settles it!” Bill says with a grin, taking another swig of beer before handing it to Yaz. “Can we get another round, James? I’ll even pay for yours. Yaz, help me set up the pool table.”

Bill ignores the protests from Yaz as she’s dragged to the pool table near the wall. A small light hangs over it, lighting up the balls already placed in the plastic triangle. Bill methodically rolls them on the table then carefully pulls the plastic off and slots it under the table.

“I’m not stayin, Bill,” Yaz says as she’s handed a pool stick. “And I’m sure as hell not getting drunk.”

Bill groans, tilting her head back dramatically. “ _God_ , Yaz. Don’t you get shagged on a daily basis, now? You need to pull the stick out of your ass, mate, and have some _fun._ You remember that? Fun? The thing you experience when you’re out with friends?” She steps closer, holding her cue stick in one hand. “When’s the last time you truly had _fun?_ C’mon, it’s just one night. It won’t kill you.”

“It might, if I keep with you lot,” Yaz mumbles. Bill rolls her eyes.

“Shut up and drink that. Your girlfriend is gonna be back with more soon.”

She doesn’t stop and think about the fact they’re pretending to date again, or that James doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest. It almost feels natural when she comes back with a round of shots (to a big cheer from the rest of Yaz’s team) and an extra beer for Yaz and slips her hand around her waist as they both tip their heads back, taking their shots together.

Yaz coughs and covers her mouth with the back of her hand. The liquor burns her throat and warms her chest immediately. “ _God_ , Bill. Could you have picked a worse alcohol?”

“Oi, fireball is delicious,” Bill says, downing her shot with ease.

“Oh, my three favorite girls!” Jack says happily, coming around the pool table to pick up a full shot glass. He wraps an arm around Bill’s shoulder and takes the pool cue from her hand, lifting the shot to his mouth with the other and downing it in one gulp. “Right, who’s gonna break? I assume it’s two against two?”

“I’ll do it,” Bill says, snatching the cue back from him and taking her place at the end of the table. She leans over and lines up the shot, pulling the stick back and letting it hit the ball with a crack. The perfect triangle of multicoloured balls break and roll about the table. One rolls right into a corner pocket, designating which group she and Jack are.

Yaz takes the first turn between her and James and she pockets a ball easily. She misses the next shot and Jack makes a shot that Yaz definitely wouldn’t have thought he were capable of making. The ball rolls into the pocket slowly, finally tipping over the edge by sheer luck, and Jack goes again.

“Have you ever played before?” Yaz asks when James misses a shot that Yaz could’ve done in her sleep. Jack lets out a bark of laughter and Bill lines herself up on the other end of the table, pocketing a ball with ease.

“Not a lot. I think I played once, a few years back,” James says. There’s a slight flush to her cheeks that might be the alcohol or might be the hot air in the bar but definitely has nothing to do with the way Yaz has her practically cornered against the table.

“Really? You own a bar with a pool table and you’ve only played once?” She’s surprised. She figured James would’ve been a pro at this.

James shrugs. “Not really all that interested, to be honest.”

Bill misses her next shot and Yaz takes the stick from James. “I can teach you, it’s not hard once you get the hang of it.” Yaz bends over the table and pockets two balls in one hit. She can’t get a good angle on the next shot and the striped ball bounces off the wall of the table, right next to the pocket.

Jack lines up his shot and Yaz takes a drink from the pint James was holding. She watches him pocket a ball with a clean hit, then another immediately after. He misses his third shot and Yaz hands the cue to James. “Ready?”

James nods. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Yaz pulls her around the table until she’s on the right side for an easy shot, then presses a hand between her shoulder blades. James bends over the edge of the table with ease and Yaz adjusts her fingers holding the end of the cue so she has a better grip. She leans over James and puts one hand overtop of hers on the back end of the cue, bracing herself with her other hand on the table next to her shoulder, hips pressed against her backside.

“Christ, are you gonna mount her on this table?” Bill asks.

“Piss off,” Yaz mumbles. “Right, just hold it steady with your fingers, pull back, and hit it with a snap. You want enough force that the ball is gonna move but not enough that you’ll pocket the cue ball.” Yaz pulls back her right hand in a few experimental thrusts, then lets James do the actual hit. The stick cracks against the cue ball, sending it into the striped ball and pocketing it swiftly. “Perfect. Just like that,” Yaz murmurs. She can _feel_ James stiffen on the table before she straightens back up, stepping back to give James (and _herself_ ) some air. It’s _really_ hot in this bar — do they not have fans or anything?

James pockets another ball after that and when she looks up at Yaz she looks so _proud_ , like she’s just accomplished something great.

“Did y’see that, Yaz? I got it in!” James exclaims happily. “All by myself, too. I could be a professional pool player. Probably win the championship.”

They lose the game. Jack and Bill together are too good of a match to Yaz and James (who only pockets one more ball in the entire game). By the time they finish, Yaz has had quite a few more shots — enough that she’s feeling a bit wobbly, her entire body so _warm_ when James stands close and slides a hand around her waist, cheek pressed against her shoulder. James doesn’t look much better with her eyes glazed over as she watches Yaz’s coworkers play darts on the other side of the bar, her mouth slightly open, a pink tongue peeking through just slightly.

(And maybe Yaz is a bit more drunk than she’d realized because all she can think about is what her tongue tastes like and _that’s_ not a normal thought to have about your fake girlfriend.)

(Though, really, what thoughts are _normal_ to have about your fake girlfriend?)

Bill leads the way out of the bar and into the cold night air, holding onto the door frame for support as she steps outside. Jack walks, but just barely. Kevin is so far gone he’s practically carried by two of the other officers that Yaz hasn’t talked to all that much (she’s _pretty sure_ she knows their names but honestly she has no idea at this point). Kevin’s uber gets there first and the three officers pile into the back of the car. Yaz holds James close to her side — partly to keep up the act of a loving couple, partly to keep warm, partly because she likes the way James fits under her arm and slides her hand into the back pocket of Yaz’s jeans like it belongs there.

Jack leaves next, after pulling Yaz and James into a big hug and kissing the top of James’ head. He ruffles her hair and she makes a face, using her free hand to smooth it down, and Jack laughs loud, his head tilting back (which means he’s _drunk_ ).

“Don’t get into too much trouble tonight, you two,” he says with a suggestive wink before he helps Bill into the car (who is telling them to “be safe, wear protection, wash your toys” through the open car door.

Once the car pulls away Yaz turns to James, arm still slung over her shoulder but she’s far too drunk to care. The street moves slightly when she moves and James is so _warm,_ even in the freezing cold air.

“Right, sorry about them,” Yaz says carefully. She’s not drunk enough to be slurring her words but she does feel like maybe her tongue doesn’t work as well, which can’t be true because it’s the same tongue she’s always had (right? She’s pretty sure).

James furrows her brows for a second before the meaning of Yaz’s apology dawns on her. “Oh, no worries. They’re nice, I didn’t mind.”

“Yeah, but, sorry you keep having to pretend to be my girlfriend,” Yaz says. “No more after tonight, promise.”

It’s probably the weird lighting from the front of the bar and the streetlights but Yaz swears James looks a little disappointed (which is stupid, because why on earth would she be disappointed about that?).

Yaz pulls away and drops her arm, feeling around in her pockets for her car keys. “I’m _definitely_ not driving tonight,” she says slowly. “I should — I should call an Uber. Or...walk.” She tries to think of how long of a car ride it was and can’t for the life of her remember.

“Do you wanna stay here?” James asks suddenly, like the thought had just occurred to her.

Yaz furrows her brows, confused. “At the bar?”

“In my flat. Upstairs,” James clarifies. “So you don’t have to deal with an Uber home.”

The wind blows and sends a shiver down to her bones now that James isn’t pressed up against her. “I don’t wanna intrude, it’s really fine —”

“Yaz, I’m offerin’. Only if y’want.” The little crease between James’ brows returns as she looks over at her, bottom lip nervously pulled between white teeth.

The decision isn’t even one she makes consciously. The words that come don’t feel like her own, and yet once she says them she knows it’s exactly what she wants.

“Yeah, actually. That would be really nice.”

* * *

James goes up the stairs first, holding on tight to the handrail as she navigates the stairs. When she gets to the bright blue door at the top she fumbles around in her jeans pockets for a few seconds before pulling out a lanyard and unlocking the lock, letting them both in.

Her flat really is bigger on the inside and Yaz is a bit impressed. From the outside the building doesn’t look much bigger than a coat closet but stepping inside is like stepping into a different dimension. There’s an old purple sofa pushed against the wall in the living room and a tv sitting on a white stand across from it. It’s all a bit cluttered; furniture that doesn’t match and a long grey coat in a pile next to the couch like she couldn’t be bothered to hang it up (which doesn’t surprise Yaz in the slightest). James clumsily kicks her boots off next to the door, revealing striped blue socks pulled up past her ankles. Yaz follows suit as James pulls off her jacket and throws it towards the couch (missing by at least three feet).

“Do you want a cuppa?”

Yaz looks up and watches the way James sways slightly in place, eyes a bit glazed over and cheeks flushed.

“I don’t think you could make one if you tried,” Yaz notes.

James looks at her offended, mouth open and brows furrowed in mock outrage. “I could too, Yasmin Khan! I bet I could make the best cup of tea you’ve ever had in your life right now.”

“Uh huh. You gonna stumble your way round the kitchen?” Yaz straightens, the laces on her boots now loose enough so she can kick them off.

“I’m not —” James puts a hand out to steady herself on the wall. “I’m not _stumbling._ ”

“You’re about ready to fall over, mate,” Yaz says, reaching out to hold onto her arm to steady her. “I bet you couldn’t even get the water in the mugs, let alone make two whole cups of tea.”

James raises an eyebrow. “Wanna make that a bet?” The challenging tone to her voice _almost_ pulls Yaz in — almost makes her do something she would probably regret (something she refuses to let herself think about too much, because there are lines to this deal they’ve got going on and she’s not gonna be the one to cross them).

“Not in a million years,” Yaz finally says, and James’ eyes dart down. Yaz thinks they’re looking at her lips until her hand reaches out and lightly touches the rose gold chain around her neck.

“You’ve still got it?” she asks quietly.

Yaz is confused for a few moments until she remembers. “Oh, shit, yeah, forgot to take it off from the last time. I kept meanin’ to return it — you can have it back if you want —”

“Keep it,” James says, rubbing the small heart between her fingers. “Looks better on you anyways.” Her eyes flick back up to Yaz’s and she suddenly realizes how _close_ they’d gotten, practically toe to toe. Yaz can feel the warm air when James breathes out, can see the way her tongue darts between her lips and how her eyes study Yaz’s face — eyes that are still hazy with alcohol but clearer than they’ve been the entire night.

It feels like _a lot_.

Yaz pulls away and shrugs off her jacket, hanging it on the hook by the door with only a bit of difficulty. “Honestly, I’m bloody shattered. I were up early to help cover a bit of the morning shift.”

James nods and pulls her eyes away after a long look that Yaz can’t read in her current drunken state. “Right! Bedroom. This way, Yasmin Khan,” James says, throwing her arm out theatrically and leading her to the back of the flat. “I’ve got pajamas if you want. They’re brilliant — got little ducks on ‘em. I mean I’m pretty sure they’re ducks. They could be weiner dogs. I really have no idea.”

“Are you always this chatty when you get someone in bed?” Yaz quips, following James into her bedroom. It’s small and cluttered, bookshelves lining the walls looking like they’re either going to burst or fall over (or both). Knick knacks cover the shelves in front of the books shoved in haphazardly. A desk is pushed against the far wall but the top of it is covered in a layer of books and pens and loose paper so tall that Yaz can barely see the colour of the desk underneath it.

“Only if we’ve been dating for a month and a half.” James opens the dresser drawer and holds onto the top of it as she bends down and rummages through, finally pulling out a pair of shorts with flourish. “Brilliant, these are. Softest thing I own.” She hands Yaz the shorts then immediately unbuttons her own pants and peels them down her legs, kicking at the bottoms clumsily until she falls backwards on the bed in a sitting position.

Yaz shouldn’t be staring. She _really_ shouldn’t be staring but James’ legs are pale and look so soft and all she can imagine is the same amount of muscle that she apparently possesses in her arms, but in her thighs.

She tears her eyes away before James looks up. She goes to the other side of the bed and slowly takes her jeans off, letting them pool at her feet before stepping out of them carefully. Where James’ movements are chaotic, Yaz’s are careful as she tries her hardest not to fall down or get her ankles tangled (because the last thing she needs is to end up face down on the floor with her pants around her ankles, drunk). James’ pants go flying to the other side of the room and when Yaz looks up her leg is raised like she’d just kicked them off, eyes wide.

“Oops,” she says, but she doesn’t sound sorry. She turns and climbs over the bed on her hands and knees, boxers tight over her thighs. They’re dark blue and look to be decorated with bright yellow stars, but Yaz only gets a short peek as James pulls back the covers and wiggles under, face down. Her face hits the pillow and she groans loudly.

“You gonna be alright?” Yaz asks, stepping into the shorts. They’re shorter than she’d anticipated and sit low on her hips but they’ll do for sleeping in someone else’s bed.

James mumbles something into the pillow.

“Right, got all of that, thanks,” Yaz says sarcastically. She pulls back the covers on her side and slides under. They’re softer than they look and she can immediately feel the warmth from James’ body next to her as she gets settled.

“I think I’m drunk, Yaz,” James admits, turning her head on the pillow and looking over at her.

“You don’t say.”

James bites her lip and wiggles until she’s on her side, hand pulled up under her chin. Her knee brushes the side of Yaz’s thigh and stays there. “Did you have a nice time tonight?”

And because she’s drunk, or because she’s annoyed at her friends, or because she’s just bloody tired, she says, “Yeah. I did. I had a really nice time with you.”

James grins and Yaz could swear it lights up the room ( _ alright Yaz _ , bit much, that). “Brilliant. Do you like my bar?”

Yaz rolls over on her side to mirror James, sliding her hands under the pillow beneath her head. “Yeah, it’s a great bar.”

“Do you think you’ll come again?”

Yaz chuckles. “Five stars, I’ll leave a yelp review.”

“Title could be ‘best bar I ever been in’,” James offers.

“‘Unusual atmosphere, cheap drinks’,” Yaz adds.

James’ face is mocking seriousness when she pulls her eyebrows together, wagging her finger. “Oi, that were only for you. Don’t tell the others I gave you a discount.”

Yaz feels a smile creeping onto her face at James’ tone. “What, the others don’t get the friends and family discount, then?” she asks.

“The others got a friends and family, you get the fake-girlfriend discount.”

“And how long will that stick around?” Yaz jokes, but she’s not prepared for the answer.

“As long as you do, Yasmin Khan.”

_ As long as you do, Yasmin Khan. _

Yaz feels the words settle into her bones like a gentle hum, repeating around in her head until she can practically taste them. Heart beating hard in her chest, she studies James’ face for some sign,  _ something  _ — a hesitation, a cruel smirk, a way that lets Yaz know she’s taking the piss. Instead, all she sees are alcohol hazed eyes staring back at her in the muted light of her room, mouth slightly open and each puff of hot breath mixing with her own between them.

It’s James that moves first — hand cupping Yaz’s cheek for a long second before she leans in. And god, it would be  _ so easy  _ to let herself fall, to jump off the edge and trust James will catch her, to realize that from the beginning of this entire ordeal she didn’t stand a damn chance, but —

She can’t.

She  _ can’t. _

She barely knows James, only knows her in the context of pretending. They’re not even really  _ friends. _ And as much as Yaz thinks she knows about this woman, there’s a  _ whole lot _ she doesn’t, and that knowledge alone is what has her hand on James’ chest, putting just the barest of pressure to hold her back.

“I can’t.”

James’ mouth is practically on her own but she stops, hesitating. Her lips quiver and her breath puffs out against Yaz’s mouth and the beat of her heart under Yaz’s palm is so fast it almost feels like there’s two in there. And then she pulls back and that crease between her brows is back and there’s an apology on her tongue (Yaz can practically taste it in the air around them).

“It’s fine,” Yaz says before James can say a word.

Still, she tries. Her eyes flick between Yaz’s and her hand drops from her cheek and she says, “Yaz, I’m s—”

“It’s okay, James. Really.”

James nods, pulling back entirely now, putting at least a foot of space between them. The air around her is uncomfortable and Yaz feels bad for pushing her away, for not being able to take that leap. Her own heart pounds in her chest like it’s trying to jump out and Yaz closes her eyes to steady herself, to just  _ breathe  _ for a second.

“I think I’m quite drunk,” she mumbles, repeating James’ words from earlier like they’re an explanation, like they mean  _ anything.  _ They sound like an apology.

“Think I am too,” James says quietly, and when Yaz opens her eyes, James’ are closed. The crease is still there, right between her brows, but she looks softer, the lines on her face smoothing out as she relaxes. “I’m sorry, Yaz,” she repeats, even quieter than before.

“Me too,” Yaz says.

* * *

She wakes hot. Like physically hot. There’s an arm wrapped around her waist and hair in her mouth that when she opens her eyes she realizes is not her own (she’s never been a blonde). For a terrifying moment Yaz scrambles to parse through the pounding in her head and remember if she’d shagged someone ( _ James _ ) last night. She’s pretty sure no, considering her clothes are still on and the last thing she remembers from the night before is falling asleep in almost this exact position (except James wasn’t holding onto her like a child with a teddy bear).

Her mouth feels like she’s been sucking on cotton the entire night and she closes her eyes to the dull thud pounding behind her forehead. She thinks about getting up and leaving before James wakes up but the arm around her waist is tight in it’s hold and James’ face is pressed under her neck, hot breath ghosting over her skin and leaving goosebumps in its wake. Yaz swallows and considers her options for a second, then gently nudges James’ arm. The blonde sucks in a deep breath and pulls her closer, the thigh between Yaz’s own moves up just a bit and James’ hand splays out flat against her lower back, underneath the t-shirt she wears.

And then she  _ kisses _ her neck.

Yaz stiffens. Her heart beats wildly in her chest. She’s pretty sure it’s going to wake James with how hard it pounds against her ribs.

“James?” Yaz says, voice scratchy and low. She swallows again, throat thick.

James shuffles slightly in the bed and kisses her neck  _ again,  _ a chaste press of her lips to her collarbone, then one slightly above it. “Five more minutes, River,” she mumbles into Yaz’s skin.

“James,” Yaz says a little louder now, because she obviously isn’t awake and definitely thinks Yaz is someone else. “It’s Yaz, can you let me go now?”

James’ head moves from underneath Yaz’s chin and she looks up at her with furrowed brows, eyes narrowed. “What are you doin’ in my bed?”

Soft light from the open curtain plays over James’ features, turning hazel eyes almost clear and blonde hair almost gold. With the light Yaz can see soft hair on her face, the chapped parts of her lips, the tip of her tongue as it pokes between them —

“You let me stay here last night,” Yaz explains, pulling her eyes away from her lips because she’s not going to think about _that_ right now (not after she’d stopped James last night).

James nods for a second, her sleep fogged brain catching up with her slowly. She starts to stretch then realizes they’re basically tangled together and pulls her arm and leg away, taking all of the warmth with her. “Sorry, I’m a cuddler in my sleep.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” Yaz says, rolling over and sitting up. “Sorry about last night, I really didn’t expect to stay. Or drink.”

James’ laugh fills the room (and Yaz). “Ah, not the first time that’s happened. Clara pours her drinks strong.”

“Doesn’t help that Bill is pushy,” Yaz chuckles, and it feels easy —  _ nice  _ — waking up with James, warm and joking. It almost quells the twisting of her stomach as she remembers the look in James’ eyes as she held her back, a look like she’d  _ expected  _ it. Like rejection is so normal in her life that she hadn’t been surprised when Yaz stopped her.

“Sorry about last night,” James says before Yaz can say anything. “I were...a lot more drunk than I thought.”

Yaz looks over at James, laying there with blonde hair splayed over the pillow and sleep lines still on her cheek and an almost guilty expression on her face. It sends a deep ache in Yaz’s stomach when she realizes, and she shakes her head. “James, it’s fine, seriously. We were both drunk, don’t worry about it,” she says. Her hand twitches, wanting to reach out, to reassure her that Yaz’s rejection didn’t come from not wanting her, but from her own personal hang ups and insecurities, but she doesn’t. She instead runs it through her hair, fingers getting caught on the tangles, and asks, “Can I use your shower?”

And like that, the moment is over, the air cut like a knife through hot butter. “Oh! Yeah, sure.” James sits up and jumps out of bed, clad in only the t-shirt and boxers she had worn the night before. Apparently the shamelessness from the night before isn’t only reserved for when she’s drunk. She pads over to a hamper at the side of the room and digs around for a second before pulling out a towel. “It’s clean, I swear,” she says after seeing the look on Yaz’s face when she’d assumed it was dirty laundry in the hamper. “I just hate foldin’ things.”

She shows Yaz the taps and which soap is the best and leaves her to it, exiting the bathroom and shutting the door behind her with a click. Yaz turns on the shower and lets it heat up while she peels off James’ shorts, leaving them in a heap by the door. She hangs her shirt over the edge of the sink and drops her underwear on top of the shorts, then pulls off her socks. Steam rises from the shower as Yaz steps in, sucking in a gasp at the scalding heat that washes over her.

She uses the shampoo and conditioner James pointed out (green apple) and absolutely does not think over the almost-kiss four hundred times. By the time she gets out of the shower, she’s mostly convinced herself that it was a fluke, just a thing two drunk people did. It’s absolutely ridiculous of her to get so worked up over what was almost a simple kiss, that means nothing to the both of them and will never actually happen considering they won’t have a reason to see each other again after Yaz leaves today.

She dries her hair and pulls on her t-shirt and underwear from last night. Her pants are piled next to the bed where she’d taken them off and so she leaves the sleep shorts hung over the edge of a small hamper in the bathroom. She can hear talking through the closed door as she runs her fingers through her hair and ties it up with a loose band she finds after rummaging around in a drawer under the sink.

When she exits the bathroom, James is sitting on the edge of the bed, one leg pulled underneath her, talking on the phone. She looks up at Yaz and looks a bit scared, bottom lip pulled between her teeth as the person on the other end talks.

Then she says, “A few months — I don’t know if she’s told anyone yet and —” the person interrupts her and James waits. “She were in the shower but she just got out.” She holds the phone out to Yaz, looking like she’d rather be anywhere but where she is right now, and that’s when Yaz realizes the phone she’s holding out is her own, and the name on the screen says ‘ _ Mum _ ’.

Oh  _ shit _ .


	3. younger sister (derogatory)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dinner with the khans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> right so. this fic won’t be back until after the holidays, at the very least. there’s one more chapter to wrap things up but I thought getting this one out before christmas would be nice to hold everyone over until the new year <3

“Why did you even answer the phone to begin with?” Yaz throws the phone on the bed after a quite long conversation with her mother about this _new relationship_ she’s in.

James, for her part, looks like she feels bad about it. “Your phone was making a racket and then I saw her name on the screen and like thirty unread messages and so I tried texting her back to tell her you were with me but then she _called_ and —“

“Why didn’t you just tell her you were a friend?”

“I panicked!” James defends. “She were askin’ so many questions so fast and I didn’t wanna say I’m your fake-girlfriend, so I just said girlfriend!”

“Fat lot of use that were,” Yaz quips. “She wants you to come over to dinner soon.”

“I know.”

“ _And you just said yes_?”

“I didn’t wanna say no!” she practically shouts. “That seemed rude! And —“ James points to her. “Your mother seems very scary.”

Okay, Yaz has to give her that. Her mum can be intimidating, especially to Yaz’s significant others (she stared down one girl so hard at dinner that she’d flat out refused to come over ever again).

(Granted, she also broke up with Yaz three days later for her best mate, but that’s an entirely different point.)

Yaz sighs and sits down heavily next to James. “Right, so. Got two options.”

“Two?” James questions, crease deeping between her brows.

Yaz shrugs. “I could wait a day or two and tell her we broke up.”

“Would she believe it?”

“Absolutely not.”

“And the second option?”

“You could come to dinner, pretend to be my girlfriend one last time, then a few weeks later I’ll tell her we broke up,” Yaz says, looking over at her.

James chews on her bottom lip for a few moments, then a grin forms on her face. “Right. So what’s for dinner?”

* * *

“Oh _mate_ ,” Ryan laughs, almost doubling over on the couch. “You’ve really fallen for her haven’t you?”

Yaz throws a pillow at him which he does not duck fast enough to keep it from hitting him square in the face. It only makes him laugh harder.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Ryan,” Yaz grumbles.

“So let me get this straight — you hired her to pretend to be your girlfriend for one party, then you _show up at her bar_ a month later —”

“ _I_ didn’t show up at her bar, Jack and Bill did,” Yaz defends. It sounds lame even to her own ears.

“Right. So _Jack and Bill_ show up at her bar, and you just tag along, get drunk, shag —”

Yaz chokes on her tea. “We absolutely _did not_ shag.”

“Right, sorry. _Slept together,_ in the same bed. And almost had a bit of a snog —”

“Okay, we did _not_ —”

“Yaz, mate. C’mon.” Ryan rolls his eyes at the look Yaz gives him. “You look like you feel sick, and the last time you looked this way was when that girl in year ten tried to kiss you during spin the —”

“ _Alright,_ I don’t need a play-by-play of my life, cheers.”

“I’m just sayin’, mate. You look like a lovesick puppy.”

“I’m not _lovesick,_ Ryan. I barely know her.”

Ryan snorts, taking a drink of his soda. “You know enough to stay the night with her, apparently.”

“We were _drunk_. I didn’t have much of a choice.” This excuse sounds even worse than the last.

“Right. Listen, mate, I’m just sayin’ — you might wanna figure those feelings out before Thursday.”

(He’s right, she knows he’s right, but you’d have to literally kill her to get her to admit it.)

“I really don’t know why I bother coming over here,” Yaz deadpans, pressing play on the remote and starting the game back up. Ryan quickly picks up his controller but Yaz’s character has already delivered some nearly fatal blows.

“So now she’s coming over for dinner with your parents?”

Yaz sighs. “Looks like it.”

“Think they’ll buy it?”

“ _God_ , I hope so.”

* * *

“Please wear something normal,” Yaz says into the phone held between her shoulder and cheek. She’s in the middle of her shift and trying to finish filling out this paperwork before she gets back to the station but James had called in a panic about _clothing choices._

“I always dress normal, Yaz!”

“Like with pants that reach your ankles, at the very least.”

James sounds offended. “Excuse me, it’s called _fashion._ And if they reached my ankles I wouldn’t be able to show off my cool socks all the time.”

“Socks decorated with puppy dogs are not considered ‘cool’ in any sense of the word.”

“They match me underwear!” 

Yaz rubs a hand down her face. “Please don’t show my parents your underwear,” she practically begs.

“What if they ask?”

“They won’t.”

“But if they do can I —”

“Absolutely not.”

Yaz can practically _hear_ James’ frown on the other end and she sighs. “Alright, if you wear the glow in the dark socks I’ll let you shut off the lights to show my dad.”

“Really?” James sounds bloody _thrilled_.

Yaz smiles despite herself — the blonde’s energy is infectious even over the phone. “Sure. Who knows, he might like ‘em.”

“Who wouldn’t? They’re pretty cool socks.”

“Right.”

“ _They are_.”

* * *

_I’m downstairs._

Yaz shuts her phone off and practically sprints to the door, shoving her feet into her shoes and slipping her arms into her jacket quickly.

“ _Slow down_ , Yasmin. There’s no need to run,” her mum calls behind her.

Sonya snorts. “Unless she thinks her girlfriend is gonna book it before she gets up here.”

Yaz ignores her as she leaves the flat, walking down the long hallway and taking the lift to the ground floor. Her fingers tap nervously on her thigh as she waits for the slow moving elevator.

She’s not even sure _why_ she’s nervous — like, sure, she’s lying to her family, to their faces, but she and James have done it twice now and nothing bad has happened, so she’s pretty sure her family isn’t going to figure it out (also, who would go to this extent to lie about something like that?).

(She’s _not_ nervous just to see James.)

James is pacing at the front of the building, hands shoved into the pockets of her coat (the grey one, not the leather one this time). She’s got that rainbow scarf on again and, surprise surprise, her signature boots and jeans that don’t come to her ankles. Yaz finds she doesn’t even mind — it suits her so well that it just makes her stomach warm when she sees them cuffed over the tops of her boots.

“I didn’t have any pants that reach my ankles,” James says as soon as Yaz exits the front doors into the crisp winter air. “I were gonna borrow some from Clara but she’s a bit shorter than me and her jeans _definitely_ didn’t reach my ankles and then I were about to run late and —”

“You look great, it’s fine. I were mostly jokin’ anyways,” Yaz says with a fond smile on her face. “Could’ve worn more rainbows, I reckon.”

James looks down at her scarf and the shirt that has a rainbow stretched across the front. “I have rainbow braces in my car if you want me to get them,” she says seriously. Yaz doesn’t doubt it.

“Please don’t. Sonya would never let you — or me — live it down.” Yaz shoves her hands into her pockets. “Are you ready?”

“Ready to date Yasmin Khan? Course. Brilliant.” James grins, holding the door open for Yaz.

The flat is warm, practically hot after being outside in the cold air for barely a few minutes. Yaz toes off her shoes by the front door and James does the same, not bothering to untie the laces and almost falling to the floor at the struggle her shoes put up. When she gets them off she straightens up with a grin, her hair a bit messy from the struggle.

Yaz raises a brow. “Your socks don’t match.”

James looks down, then back up, looking quite chuffed. “I know! I figured since I can’t show them my underwear I’d wear two different socks, just so they know I have a bunch of cool pairs.”

Brightly colored dinosaurs on the right foot, cats that look like sushi on the left. James wiggles her toes.

“Alright,” Yaz says finally. She shrugs off her jacket and hangs it on the hook, James following suit. She’s wearing the pink shirt today and yellow braces clipped to the waist of her jeans frame the rainbow across her chest. God, her fake girlfriend dresses like a clown.

Yaz takes a deep breath, steadies herself, then takes James’ hand in her own and leads her further into the flat.

Sonya sees them first and she lets out a snort, looking over the top of her phone from where she sits at the table. Yaz glares at her. James looks like she didn’t even notice, an excited grin on her face. Her parents’ backs are turned to them and Yaz clears her throat.

“This is James, James this is my family. Sonya, my little sister, and my mum and dad.”

Sonya gives a short wave. Her parents turn and Yaz watches her mum’s reaction closely — but it’s not like it _matters_ if she likes James, because they’re not even really dating and they’ll only have to do this once, but still. Yaz likes the approval.

Her mum’s face gives nothing away but she's polite and wipes her hands off with the dish towel as she approaches. “Najia,” she says, starting to hold her hand out. James, apparently not taking the social cue, pulls her into a hug.

“Wonderful to meet you, Yaz’s mum. You’ve made a very awesome human.”

When they part, Najia looks a bit taken back by the hug and just nods, muttering, “it’s Najia.”

Her dad sticks his hand out and James takes it, giving him a firm shake. “Hakim. Yaz hasn’t told us a thing about you, James.”

“Yeah, hasn’t even mentioned a girlfriend until last week,” Sonya adds. “You sure she hasn’t hired you on the spot or something?”

Yaz’s stomach lurches. _Of course_ her sister would be the one to be skeptical and figure it out. 

“ _Sonya_ ,” their mum scolds.

James gives an easy laugh and tangles their fingers together, almost like it’s muscle memory by now. “Absolutely not hired. Yaz hasn’t paid me a cent to be here,” she says, which is _technically_ true. Yaz hasn’t paid her at all — James just keeps agreeing to pretend to date her, for some unknown reason.

Sonya eyes their hands with a disgusted look on her face.

“Do you want to sit down, James?” Najia cuts in — her mum, ever the good host. “We’re almost done, shouldn’t be more than a few minutes.”

Her dad is already back at the stove, finishing up cooking dinner. The table is set and empty plates sit at each place, with an extra one for James. Yaz sits across from Sonya and tugs James down into the seat next to her.

Sonya stares over her phone for a few uncomfortable seconds where James finally meets her stare head on, lifting her chin slightly like she’s ready for the attack. It’s sort of endearing, really; how she’s willing to take the third degree from Yaz’s little sister, even if they’re just pretending (really, what could she possibly get out of this? That question plays in the back of Yaz’s mind almost constantly as they keep ending up in these situations).

“Your socks don’t match,” Sonya finally says.

James smiles like that wasn’t the comment she was expecting. “Got excited, couldn’t decide which ones to go with.”

“Right. What’s your name short for?”

“Now that, Sonya Khan, is a great question. One even your sister never asked until our second date,” James says, turning her head to give Yaz a raise of her brow.

(Yaz feels the words _second date_ bounce around in her head until she snatches them away, pinning them down and trying to erase the way it makes her stomach flutter just a bit.)

“How were I supposed to know your name is short for a _whisky_?”

James ignores her and turns back to Sonya. “It’s short for Jameson.”

“Jameson,” Sonya repeats.

“Yep!” James says cheerily. Her thub strokes the back of Yaz’s hand absentmindedly, their clasped fingers resting on her lap. “Me mum hates it, but it’s alright.”

“Why does she hate it if she’s your mum? Didn’t she give you that name?”

“ _Sonya,_ ” Yaz warns. She doesn’t want James to be uncomfortable again, and she doesn’t want her to _leave_ before dinner even starts because her sister is asking invasive questions.

James squeezes her hand softly, twice. “Had the name when I were adopted. Was too late to change it by that point.”

“Sonya, come get this,” their mum says a few feet away, holding out a plate. Sonya just barely refrains from rolling her eyes as she gets up and takes the plate from their mum, setting it on the table in front of Yaz and James. Najia sets a bowl in the middle of the table a few seconds later and her and Yaz’s dad sit down on either side of Yaz and James. They each scoop food from the bowl in the middle and Yaz puts some on Jame’s plate, giving her two pieces of _chapati_ before leaning over to whisper in her ear.

“Do you want me to help tear it?” Yaz asks quietly.

James looks around the table for a few seconds at Yaz’s family already starting to eat, Hakim asking Sonya about something to do with her job, then she nods. Yaz reaches over with one hand and quickly tears it for her, then tears her own with practiced movements.

“Just watch what I do,” Yaz says, folding the torn piece of _chapati_ and scooping up some of the curry and meat. “Use your right hand.” James switches hands and folds the _chapati_ like Yaz did before trying to mimic her scooping motion. She ends up with just curry and Yaz snorts, unable to help her reaction to James’ frustrated look down at her bowl.

“Where are you from, James?” Najia asks. The entire table turns their attention to James who swallows and only looks like a deer in the headlights for a few seconds.

“Oh, around,” she says, waving her hand noncommittally. “Moved around a lot as a kid. Sheffield is home now, though.”

Najia hums. “Do you have family here?”

James shakes her head politely. “Not a lot of family in general, I’m afraid. Growin’ up it were mostly me and me mum. Did have a nanny though! A few of them, actually.”

Yaz has thought it before, but she really should’ve asked deeper questions at that first meeting ( _not date_ ). She might know things about this woman, about her life and personality and maybe that she has a dead wife, but once she really looks at the information she’s collected she realizes it’s all a bit shallow, all surface details. She didn’t know she moved around as a kid, didn’t know she didn’t have family — truthfully, she hasn’t even thought about it, and now that she is getting more in depth details she doesn’t want it to stop.

“Must be hard, being alone like that,” Sonya says.

“ _Sonya_ ,” their dad warns.

“What? I’m just saying it’s nice she found Yaz, almost like fate.” Sonya flicks her eyes to Yaz for barely a second but Yaz sees the disbelief in them — she’s not buying the relationship and Yaz can tell.

“Don’t believe in fate,” James says. “Think we all make our own decisions, the universe around us is just shaped by which choices we go with.”

Sonya backs off, taking a bite of food and a long drink from her cup, staring at James the entire time.

“Have you got a job, James?” Hakim asks.

James breaks her look with Sonya and smiles in his direction. “Yeah, have me own business.”

“Really?” Yaz’s mum asks, sounding impressed. “What kind of business?”

“A bar,” James says with a proud smile.

You wouldn’t be able to tell if you hadn’t grown up with her but Yaz sees her mothers smile falter just a bit at the edges. _Great_ , she thinks Yaz is dating an alcoholic.

“That’s quite impressive,” Hakim says.

“Thanks! Started it with my...friend.” This time it’s James’ smile that falters just a bit at the edges, though unnoticeable by the rest of her family. Yaz moves her knee until it bumps against James’, then she bumps it one more time just so she knows it was intentional. James waits a second before bumping her knee back two times.

“Must be an interesting job,” Najia says.

“Oh, it is. I like it though. Lots of people, lots of stories. You’d be surprised what people will tell a bartender,” James laughs.

“I would love to hear some of those stories,” Sonya says, leaning forward interestedly. “Got any juicy ones?”

Yaz turns to James who has a mouthful of food. “You don’t have to answer that, please ignore her.”

James swallows and shakes her head in Sonya’s direction. “Mostly it’s just people complaining about love. Had a girl last week who talked to me for an hour about the guy she fancies who will never see her as anything more — said he takes her for granted. Quite sad, really.”

Dinner goes...well. Really, it’s not that bad — honestly it goes better than some of the dinners she’s had where she’s introduced a new significant other. Her parents ask questions and James answers them with practiced ease, even stopping to make jokes that her mum actually cracks a smile at (Yaz is impressed). Sonya studies them closely the entire meal and asks pointed, specific questions, apparently trying to get James to slip up but James answers confidently, giving vague details that sound specific but really aren’t.

They’re nearing the end of dinner, plates almost clean, when Sonya asks, “So, have any pictures? I haven’t seen anything on Yaz’s instagram yet.”

Her face is the picture of innocence — just asking a harmless question — but Yaz sees the way her parents latch onto it, turning to both her and James expectantly.

“I would love to see that butterfly garden James mentioned. I bet there were some great spots for couples shots there,” Sonya adds.

James’ hand tenses on Yaz’s thigh. Yaz feels her heart beat just a bit harder and she clears her throat before James can say anything. “Think they’re all on my laptop, sorry Son. I’ll show you some other time,” she says, hoping her sister will forget about it.

“Oh, that’s no problem, Yaz. Just get your laptop from your room, right?” Sonya challenges. The glint in her eye tells Yaz she’s caught on, she’s figured them out and is trying to out them to her parents ( _for what reason_ is what Yaz still has to figure out).

“Left it at my place,” Jame cuts in. Her fingers reassuringly squeeze Yaz’s thigh under the table once more and Yaz feels herself relax just a bit. James is a far better liar than she will ever be. “Was gonna bring it with me tonight and forgot. Sorry Yaz.” James gives her an apologetic smile.

“No matter. You’ll just have to show us next time you come for dinner,” Najia says, absolutely none the wiser to Sonya’s mounting suspicion.

“Will definitely do that,” James says with a grin that’s just big enough that Yaz believes for a few seconds that she will — come over again, that is. Have dinner with them like they’re really dating.

Yaz almost physically shakes her head to get the thought out of there, and instead squashes it down and reminds herself that _no,_ she most definitely will _not_ be coming back over, because this was an emergency only type situation and they’re not _actually dating_ and Yaz is going to make up some excuse in two weeks about how they broke up but it was amicable, and they’re both moving on.

When they do finish their food, James immediately offers to help with the dishes. “I really don’t mind,” she says, and Najia raises her brows at Yaz like she’s impressed, but she shakes her head.

“Nonsense, Yaz and Sonya will do them,” her mum says.

Sonya scoffs. “But she _just_ offered —” Their mum shoots her a look that stops her words in their tracks. Sonya just barely manages to not roll her eyes (something they learned _very quickly_ not to do as children) and stands from the table.

Yaz takes James’ hand and squeezes it under the table. “Sure you’ll be alright with them?” she whispers.

“Your parents? Oh, yeah, great with parents, me. Think I did pretty well over dinner, right?” James asks earnestly. She chews on her lower lip like she’s nervous about the answer.

Yaz leans a bit closer so her family doesn’t overhear. “You did great. Think my mum is actually warming up to you.”

James grins, looking chuffed with herself.

“Yaz,” Najia says from the kitchen.

Yaz squeezes James’ hand again before she stands. “Have fun with them,” she says before moving into the kitchen and turning on the tap. Sonya stands there with the dish towel slung over her arm, thumbs flying over her phone as she waits.

They wash dishes in relative silence while their mum opens a bottle of wine and pours two glasses, one for herself and one for James (their dad _hates_ the taste of wine). The familiar monotony of washing the dishes and handing them to Sonya to dry is something they’ve been doing for years, and Yaz is a bit surprised when Sonya speaks up halfway through.

“You’re not really dating are you?”

Yaz almost drops the glass she’s holding ( _almost_ ). Her stomach twists but she ignores it as best she can. She clears her throat to give herself time to _calm the fuck down._ Sonya doesn’t know anything — she _can’t_ know anything. All she has right now is her skepticism, and that doesn’t amount to anything. There’s no way she’d know anything.

“What do you mean? Of course we’re dating,” Yaz says almost convincingly. Her words catch a bit at the end and she hopes the water drowns it out.

Sonya scoffs. “Really? You’re gonna lie to me too, then?”

“Sonya, I’m not lyin.” Yes she is. “We really are together, I don’t know what to tell you.”

Sonya turns to face her and Yaz keeps her eyes firmly down at the dish in her hands.

“Right, so tell me something about her. What’s her mum’s name?”

 _Oh fuck_. Yaz quickly tries to wrack her brain for any conversation she’s had with James about her mum, but nothing comes to mind other than the times she’s mentioned her passingly.

“She doesn’t talk about her past a lot,” Yaz finally says, handing Sonya the bowl. Sonya takes it and dries it slowly, eyes narrowed at Yaz the entire time.

“Right. So what’s her dad’s name then?”

This one Yaz knows — barely. James’ hasn’t ever mentioned one so she just assumes and dear god, she hopes she’s right. “She doesn’t have one. Well, not an adopted one.”

Sonya continues to study her silently before looking away and stepping around her to put the dish away in the cabinet. Yaz uses the opportunity to spare a glance behind them, checking to see if her parents or James can hear the conversation over the running water, but all three of them are sitting in the living room, looking none the wiser. James says something and Yaz’s mum actually _laughs._

“Can you stop with this stupid questioning? I don’t even know why you think it’s fake,” Yaz says when Sonya steps back to the sink next to her.

“Maybe if you had _proof,_ and not just some woman we’ve literally never met before —”

“Just because you haven’t met her doesn’t mean we haven’t been in a relationship,” Yaz interrupts.

 _"You’ve never even talked about her,_ Yaz. You’ve literally never mentioned her — not to mum, not to dad, not even to _me_.”

It finally sinks in — the reason Sonya seems so skeptical. It hits Yaz like a ton of bricks and she stops washing the dish in her hands, turning her head to look at her sister — to really _look_ at her sister.

She’s upset Yaz didn’t tell her about James.

“Is that what this is about, Son?” Yaz asks quietly. “Because I didn’t tell you about her?”

Sonya rolls her eyes but Yaz sees right through it (she’s always been able to). “Whatever, it’s not a big deal,” she mumbles.

“I trust you, you know that right?” Yaz says, ignoring the obvious dismissal. “I do trust you enough to tell you things.”

“Well apparently you didn’t trust me enough to tell me about _her_.” Sonya’s tone is a bit sharp, jagged at the edges. It’s the tone she’s used more than once, the one that says she’s hurt. “Really, Yaz. I thought after everything we’ve been through you’d trust me enough to tell me about important things in your life.”

“I _do_ , Son. I just —” Yaz cuts off, biting her lip. She doesn’t want to hurt her sister. She doesn’t want to lie to her. (She _has_ to lie to her). “It were new, y’know? I didn’t know if I even _liked_ her like that for a while, and when I finally realized...it just seemed like a lot. Like something massive were happening and I were helpless to stop it.”

Sonya takes the dish from her and dries it with the towel. “It’s fine, Yaz. It’s not a big deal.”

“No, Sonya, hey.” Yaz nudges her with her elbow, trying to get her sister to look at her. Sonya finally concedes and drags her eyes from the dish to her older sister. “We’ve been through a lot, yeah? And I _do_ trust you, it’s just —” Yaz’s eyes trail over her shoulder again where James sits on the chair, wine glass in her hand and head tilted back as she laughs at something Hakim had said. She looks so carefree, so comfortable in Yaz’s home that it twists her heart a bit when she remembers this is just a one time deal.

“God, you’re making me sick, now,” Sonya says, making a disgusted face at Yaz. And it’s not said aloud but Yaz feels her sister’s guard slip just a bit, just enough that when Yaz doesn’t immediately turn around, Sonya nudges her with her elbow and says, “stop starin’ at your girlfriend and come on. I don’t wanna be here all night.”

Yaz wipes her hands on the towel when they finish a few minutes later and Sonya immediately picks up her phone, tapping away on the screen as she heads to her room. James isn’t visible in the living room when Yaz looks around, pouring herself a glass of wine from the open bottle on the counter. When she gets into the living room, though, it’s very apparent where she is.

Where she is is on her stomach under the couch, wine glass held in her dad’s hand as James wiggles a bit, her socked foot shooting out behind her. Her hand reaches out from underneath the couch and she asks, “Extra screw?”

Yaz’s dad hands her the glass of wine he’s been holding and digs around in the tool box he’s pulled from the closet. He finds the screw he’s looking for and drops it in James’ waiting palm.

“Thank you!” James says, voice a bit muffled.

“What is she doing underneath the couch?” Yaz asks.

“Fixing the loose leg! The one I couldn’t get under to fix quite right. She offered, said she’s great at fixing things.” Her dad looks down approvingly at James who wiggles underneath the couch once more. Her shirt is untucked from her pants, braces down around her waist, and a small sliver of skin shows between the hem of her shirt and the top of her jeans. As she stretches it gets slightly bigger and Yaz has to look away when her mouth suddenly goes dry.

James finally crawls backwards from underneath the couch and clumsily brings herself to her feet. Her hair is messy and has a few pieces of dust in it and her shirt is all rucked up from crawling on the floor, and she smiles brightly at Yaz when she sees her.

“Right, fixed! I knew carrying this thing around were a lifesaver,” she says, pushing the screwdriver bit back into her multi-tool and sliding it into her back pocket. 

“Thank you, James. Don’t think we would’ve gotten that fixed any time soon,” Najia says, giving a pointed look to Hakim who puts his hands up defensively.

“No problem, Yaz’s mum. I love fixin’ things,” James says with a grin. Najia reminds her of her name, _again_ (“It’s Najia”) but James already has her sights on Yaz, moving to wrap an arm around her waist and take back the wine glass she’d been holding for her.

“So what were you grilling her about this time?” Yaz asks her parents who each take a seat on the fixed couch. It doesn’t make that creaking noise it usually does, which is probably a good sign.

“You,” James says with a slight smirk on her face when she looks over at Yaz. It’s a shit eating grin, really, but she looks like she’s trying to keep a laugh inside.

Yaz’s eyebrows knit together in confusion until it dawns on her. “Oh god, did they —”

“I heard you were a _fantastic_ dancer."

Yaz shoots a look at her parents. “ _You_ _didn’t_ —”

“We only showed her the one video,” Hakim says, like that makes it any better. “The one with the tutu.”

Yaz covers her face with her free hand. “ _Oh god_.”

James laughs beside her, her body moving against Yaz’s side. Yaz can feel her breath as she inhales and the movement of her stomach as she very obviously tries not to crack up at Yaz’s embarrassment.

“It were a great tutu,” James says.

“Do you really have to show _everyone_ that video?” Yaz asks her parents — the two people out to ruin her life and relationships.

“Of course, Yasmin. It’s _tradition_ ,” her mum says, but the poorly concealed grin and glint in her eyes tells Yaz she really just likes embarrassing her.

“They told me you have a ton of trophies too. Would love to see those,” James adds.

“I’m not showing you those.”

“She’s got quite a few. It’s impressive,” her dad says.

Yaz scoffs. “It’s not impressive, I were _nine_. Anyone can win a dance trophy at nine.”

“Well now you _have_ to show me, I’m invested,” James points out.

Yaz rubs a hand down her face. Of course, be it her parents to bring up the dancing and trophies and _videos._

“God, okay, fine. But you’re not allowed to joke.” Yaz points a stern finger at her.

James holds three fingers up. “Scouts honor.”

“You weren’t a scout,” Yaz deadpans.

James shrugs.

“Thanks, _really_ ,” Yaz says to her parents who look quite chuffed with themselves. They’ve always loved doing this to any significant others — Yaz isn’t sure why she thought James would be any different. James tangles their fingers together as Yaz leads her down the hall, towards her bedroom. She drops her hand for a second to open the door, then closes it when James enters.

Her room isn’t all that exciting — a desk against the far wall, a bed against another wall, a dresser, some plants, her laptop (which she picks up and slides under her pillow, just in case Sonya goes snooping and tries to catch her in the lie again). Lining the back of her dresser are bright pink, purple, and blue trophies, each with Yaz’s name carved into the placard. They range from small participation trophies to first place at the I Love Dance competition. A few medals hang from the necks of the little plastic dancers that top the trophies; medals won at those same competitions in different categories.

She isn’t sure why she hasn’t put them away yet. They’re dusty and it’s not like she thinks about them a lot or can even dance like that anymore, but looking at them fills her with a fond warmth, a nostalgia for the carefree child she once was.

James holds the wine glass in one hand and Yaz’s fingers in the other as she goes up to the dresser and inspects the trophies and medals. She drops Yaz’s hand at one point to pick up a small printed out picture of Yaz in silver spandex leotard with a bright orange skirt, the same color headband tied around unruly curly hair as she grins up at the camera, a hand on her hip in her best _dancers pose_.

James raises her eyebrows when she looks over at Yaz, lips curling in as she very obviously tries to keep a laugh from spilling out. Her face scrunches and her shoulders shake slightly and Yaz rolls her eyes. “Fine, you can laugh.”

A loud laugh spills from James’ mouth as she looks back at the picture. She practically doubles over, barely holding onto her wine glass as her shoulders shake and her laugh fills the room (fills Yaz). When she straightens back up at least thirty seconds later she’s got tears in her eyes and she wipes at them with the back of her hand.

“It’s a great outfit, truly,” James says, taking a deep breath to calm down. “I love the orange. It really makes a statement.”

“The dance were called Funky Fiesta.”

“ _Of course it was_.” James carefully puts the picture back where she’d gotten it, taking a sip of wine. “Do you think your parents have a video —”

“Absolutely not.”

James’ eyes move from the picture, taking in the rest of the room until they practically light up when they land on her bed.

“ _Fairy lights!_ Oh, love fairy lights. Can I turn them on?” she asks excitedly.

Of course she’s excited about fairy lights. Yaz can’t even remember the last time she turned them on.

“Yeah, flip the switch,” she says, moving towards the bed and leaning down to plug the end of the string into the wall. As soon as the room goes dark the string lights up, twirled around the headboard of her bed and lighting up the room with a warm glow. James literally gasps when it happens and when Yaz straightens back up and looks behind her, James is standing there looking on in awe. Her bottom lip is caught between her teeth, the glow lighting up her face and reflecting back in her eyes.

She looks to Yaz with a grin forming. “They’re brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.”

Yaz looks back at the lights, taking a sip of wine. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Love ‘em. I think I should get some lights for my room. Maybe orange?”

Yaz snorts. “Like Halloween?”

James makes a face. “Maybe not orange. I could get a salt lamp! Love salt lamps. Do you think they’re actually salty?”

“You gonna try and lick one?”

“Of course, gotta test it out first,” James says, like that makes any sense whatsoever. Her free hand slides over Yaz’s lower back and around her waist, finger hooking into the belt loop of her jeans. It’s such a simple move, one that they’ve done countless times since they got into this mess, and it makes Yaz’s heart pound a little harder in her chest. She’s warm on Yaz’s side, taking a sip of her wine as they look at the lights, then she says, “I think your parents like me.”

James looks chuffed when Yaz turns her head to face her. “Yeah? Dad likes anyone that will listen to him talk about football and help him fix something,” she says.

“Yeah, but your mum too.”

She’s right — her mum _does_ like James, Yaz can tell (and that’s a step up from her last relationship, which her mother absolutely did not approve of, and let Yaz know more than once).

“Yeah, my mum too,” Yaz repeats quietly.

It’s probably the lights, or the quiet of the room, or the fact that she’s standing here in her socks, holding Yaz close to her side and drinking wine and talking about her parents approval. It’s probably the almost-kiss from last week, the one they haven’t spoken about and have mutually agreed meant nothing since they were drunk. It’s probably the way James’ eyes dart down to her lips for barely a second, but that second feels like it lasts a year and suddenly the world shifts under her feet, the puzzle piece finally clicking into place. Her stomach flips, her heart pounds, her palms feel sweaty, and she finally gets it.

Oh.

_Oh._

And suddenly Yaz _wants._ She wants so badly that she’s pretty sure her heart is going to beat out of her chest, her skin buzzing with every part of them that touches, and _god damn_ she doesn’t know how she ended up like this but she truly doesn’t care.

(She should care — she should pull away and remind herself that they’re _pretending,_ that this is just so her parents will get off her back and that after tonight they won’t see each other again, but somehow Yaz knows that isn’t true.)

So this is it, huh? This is what she’s been working towards — what has been slowly building for weeks until it’s too big to ignore. This is the rom-com ending she told herself wouldn’t happen, _and yet._

“James,” Yaz whispers, because she feels she should say something, _anything._ Give her a chance to pull away or stop her or tell her that they’re only pretending, that they don’t need to pretend like this behind closed doors.

James doesn’t respond. Her eyes dart down to Yaz’s lips once more but this time it’s not just for a second, it’s much longer, and Yaz watches as a pink tongue darts out before hazel eyes drag back up to her own.

“Yeah?” James replies, just as quietly. It’s barely a whisper, mixed with an exhale that spills from her lips.

Yaz doesn’t know what to say then. She didn't plan for this. Instead, she turns to face her fully and James’ palm is now flat against her lower back, hot and seeping through the fabric of her shirt. She feels dizzy, overwhelmed with the heaviness of the silence that settles over them as Yaz reaches up to cup her cheek, thumb stroking over soft skin. It’s almost the exact opposite of their night in James’ bed and Yaz wants to laugh with the irony but can’t find it in herself to break the moment. James’ eyes are dark even as they reflect the fairy lights behind Yaz but she doesn’t see them long as her eyelids flutter closed when their faces start to move closer. Their lips brush and Yaz hears James suck in a shuddering, nervous breath. Her heart is pounding so hard in her chest she’s pretty sure it might actually kill her, but you’d have to let her die to get her to stop now.

“Please,” James whispers, but she doesn’t move forward, doesn’t initiate a kiss. She lets Yaz hold her cheek in one hand and her wine glass in the other and finally, _finally_ press their lips together.

Y’know when people say a good kiss feels like fireworks exploding behind your eyes? They’re wrong. This feels nothing like that. It feels like the world around them goes silent, like they’re the only two people left on planet earth. It feels like everything slows to a stop just for them to live in this moment of lips and tongue, soft and gentle at first, then harder and with more need as Yaz holds the back of James’ neck and pulls her close. Their wine glasses clink together and Yaz has to use every bit of strength in her to make sure she doesn’t drop it (at this point she wouldn’t care if she did).

James’ hand grips the side of Yaz’s shirt, pulling her body closer as her tongue swipes over Yaz’s bottom lip. One of them makes a noise, Yaz has no idea who and honestly doesn’t even care. She parts her lips easily for James’ tongue to dart forward, licking into her mouth with an eagerness that she should’ve expected from her. She kisses like she’s never kissed another person before, like she will never get another chance to kiss Yaz again and so she’s giving it her all right now. Like she thinks Yaz is going to pull away or disappear or something.

A sharp knock sounds at the door and Sonya’s voice comes through, muffled by the wood. “Are you two makin’ out in there? C’mon, mum wants to watch a film.”

They break away slowly and James presses another quick kiss to her mouth before Yaz even opens her eyes, like she can’t help herself. Her lips are wet and her tongue tastes like James and her body feels like she’s been electrified, skin practically buzzing. She rests her forehead on James’, eyes still closed at least for the moment. She doesn’t want to break it, this careful thing they’ve just built over the past few seconds. She doesn’t want to remember they’re supposed to be faking it or that she’s royally fucked up her plan of pretend-breaking up with James in a few weeks or that now they’ve got to figure out what _this_ is. She doesn’t want to be pulled back into real life, content to just stand here with James, lightly scratching the back of her neck with her nails.

James whispers, “what kind of movie do you think they’ll put on?”

Yaz lets out a breath from her nose, unable to help the smile that forms on her face. “I dunno,” she says, finally pulling back and opening her eyes.

James is just as beautiful as she was before, with the light shining on her face and reflecting on her eyes and lips now kiss swollen and red and a bit wet. James’ tongue darts out between them and Yaz follows the movement with her eyes, wanting nothing more than to lean back in. She pulls away fully now and slides her hand from James’ neck down to her collar bone, right over her heart that’s beating wildly under Yaz’s palm.

“Think we should get out there,” Yaz says.

“Yeah,” James agrees.

“They’ll think we’re shaggin’ in here if we don’t.”

James’ face flushes hard in the light. “Right.”

Yaz’s eyes flick down to her mouth again and she honestly can’t help it that she leans forward again, capturing James’ lips in another kiss. Quicker and less needy than the last time, but it still takes her breath away and leaves her wanting more.

She tangles their fingers together as they leave her room (after wiping their mouths and making sure they don’t look like they were actually just making out in Yaz’s bedroom). Her mum is curled up one one chair, Sonya on the other, their dad sitting at one end of the couch. Yaz ends up squished between her dad and James and can’t focus on the movie one bit as James’ thigh is pressed against her own, her finger absentmindedly rubbing gentle circles on the back of Yaz’s hand that’s settled in her lap.

If you’d asked her, Yaz wouldn’t be able to tell you which movie they even watched or what it was about. She doesn’t even notice it’s over until her mum flicks on the lamp and the room floods with light again, startling Yaz enough that she actually jumps slightly. James gives her a soft smile and laces their fingers together in her lap while Yaz’s parents stand from their seats. The tv gets turned off and Yaz stands, tugging James up by the hand.

“James, it was nice to finally meet you,” her mum says politely.

“You too, Yaz’s mum,” James replies with a grin.

“ _It’s Najia,_ ” Yaz’s mum reminds her, but with no real irritation behind it.

They both make their way slowly to the door, Yaz following behind James when her dad asks, “We’ll see you at the party next month, right?”

James stops, turning around and looking between the three of them (technically four, but Sonya isn’t paying the slightest bit of attention) and slowly raising her brows. "Party?”

Oh god.

“Yaz’s birthday party,” her mum clarifies helpfully.

James looks to Yaz and tilts her head to the side just slightly, the question evident in her eyes. _Birthday?_

Yaz can’t do much other than stare back and hope she doesn’t blow their cover now, at the last second (though, is it really that much of a cover anymore?).

James turns to her parents with a bright grin and says, “I’ll be there. I’ve already got the perfect present picked out.”

**Author's Note:**

> as always follow me on tumblr @zanthetran <3


End file.
